s 

2 


t 


MRS.    H.    V.    STIT/KL. 


WHAT  CAME  OF  IT 


N 


OYEL, 


BY 

MRS.    H.   V.    STITZEL. 


God  is  behind  all  things,  but  all  things  hide  God. 

—  VICTOR  HUGO. 


PORTLAND,  OREGON  : 

PUBLISHING   HOUSE   OF   GEO.    H.    HIMES. 
1878. 


ffgs 


Copyright,  1878, 

BY    HENRY    STITZEL. 


IIS  9*.  6 

Library 


TO  THE  READER. 

'HEN  the  old  Knights,  from  Amadis  to 
Quixote,  rode  forth  into  the  domain  of  ad 
venture,  they  did  not  expect  that  their  course 
would  remain  unchallenged ;  and  so,  in  these  halcyon 
days,  when  an  author,  in  the  shining  mail  of  the  types, 
invades  the  disputed  realm  of  literature,  he  cannot  be 
wholly  unprepared  for  rude  buffets  and  deadly  thrusts. 
And  yet  the  following  pages  appear  under  circum 
stances  which  may  mitigate  the  asperity  of  that  criticism 
which  cannot,  in  the  nature  of  things,  be  escaped.  Not 
that  MRS.  STITZEL  has  passed  under  the  friendly  aegis  of 
the  maxim  de  mortuis ;  not  that  the  book  is  the  first  ef 
fort  of  an  unpracticed  hand;  not  that  ill-health,  distract 
ing  household  cares,  and  philanthropical  labors  are 
pleaded  in  extenuation  of  its  faults — but  that  it  does  not 
fully  represent  the  mental  pdwer  and  culture  of  the 
author.  Shortly  after  the  death  of  MRS.  STITZEL,  in 
January  last,  her  unfinished  manuscript,  in  the  crude  and 
imperfect  condition  of  the  first  writing,  was  placed  in  the 
hands  of  Mr.  SAM.  L.  SIMPSON,  who  has  simply  con- 


PREFACE. 


ducted  the  story  to  a  natural  conclusion,  and  prepared 
the  whole  for  publication.  The  author  herself,  had  her 
life  been  spared,  had  undoubtedly  made  a  better  book 
of  it;  but  her  husband  and  friends  were  unwilling  that 
even  the  unripe  fruits  of  her  toil  should  perish  utterly, 
and  thus,  under  exceptional  conditions,  WHAT  CAME 
OF  IT  is  submitted  to  a  generous  and  sympathizing  pub 
lic.  It  is,  at  least,  the  production  of  a  good  heart  and  a 
bright  and  active  mind,  and  in  whatever  else  it  may 
fail,  will  cast  no  vicious  stain  upon  the  abounding  river 
of  human  thought. 


CONTENTS. 


PREFACE       .        .      ..••'. 
WHAT  CAME  OF  IT 

WAIFS  AND  ESTRAYS. 

-    WRECKED 275 

JOHN  MARVIN 2gr 

COMPARISON  BETWEEN  VOLTAIRE  AND  ST.  PAUL          .  289 

ERNEST  TREMAIN 

RELIGION ^ 

UNCHANGEABLE  LOVE  ....  oOI 

EMINENT  ENERGIES 

304 

LEGEND  OF  LIFE  (A  POEM)  ......  307 

THE  SOUL  AND  THE  FLOWER 317 

MOTHER'S  GRIEF     , 

318 

WHOSE  CHURCH  is  THIS? 


WHAT  CAME  OF  IT. 


CHAPTER  L 

some  distance  from  the  public  road,  and  but 
a  few  miles  from  the  metropolis  of  British 
America,  there  was,  in  the  days  through 
which  this  narrative  extends,  a  little  white 
cottage,  over  whose  front  porch  a  rose  tree  and  a 
honeysuckle  were  striving  for  the  victory  of  space, 
challenging  admiration  by  the  sweet  perfumes  they 
breathed  through  their  dancing  leaves,  among  which 
the  sunbeams  played  at  hide-and-seek  with  the  cradled 
darlings  of  fond  mother  birds. 

In  a  commodious  chamber,  with  a  southern  aspect, 
of  this  retired  though  pleasant  dwelling,  reclining  in 
an  easy  chair,  was  a  venerable,  white-haired  woman, 
habited  in  a  soft  gray  morning  gown.  Her  lower  limbs 
were  paralyzed,  and  the  hard  lines  of  her  aged  face,  as 
well  as  her  general  manner,  testified  to  no  ordinary  de 
gree  of  mental  disturbance  and  bodily  pain.  Some 
times  she  would  sit  for  hours  abstractedly  gazing  out 
of  the  window,  and  again  she  would  seemingly  be 
possessed  of  the  demon  of  unrest,  muttering  inco 
herently  and  moaning  like  one  in  agony.  At  such  times 


IO  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

Echo,  her  grand  daughter,  was  the  only  one  that  could 
sooth  her  perturbed  spirit. 

At  the  close  of  the  day,  Echo,  seated  on  a  low  chair 
at  the  feet  of  her  grandmother,  Mrs.  Clifford,  was  read 
ing,  in  a  sweetly  modulated  voice,  from  the  family 
Bible.  The  perfect  form  of  the  girl  was  arrayed  in  a 
white  dress  of  delicate  texture,  while  falling  over  the 
pin  which  secured  her  ruff,  was  a  cluster  of  purple  pan- 
sies  and  creamy  rose-buds. 

Beneath  her  transparent  complexion  the  full  blue 
veins  were  distinctly  traceable,  while  the  masses  of  her 
rich  brown  hair,  tinged  with  gold,  fell  luxuriantly  about 
her  shoulders,  and  constituted  the  flowing  frame-work 
of  a  face  transcendent  in  its  loveliness.  Her  eyes  were 
of  a  brilliant  brown  color,  with  those  shifting  lights  and 
smouldering  gleams  of  purple  which  give  such  eyes  an 
ineffable  splendor  and  power  of  fascination. 

At  the  commencement  of  our  story  Echo  was  just 
gliding  into  the  dreamy  age  of  sixteen.  She  possessed 
considerable  book-culture  for  one  so  young,  but  of  so 
ciety  and  its  ways  she  knew  comparatively  nothing. 
She  had  lived  a  peculiarly  secluded  life  in  the  little 
white  cottage,  with  her  grandmother  and  an  aged  nurse 
— the  latter  having  died  some  three  months  previous  to 
the  beginning  of  this  narrative.  The  only  changes  she 
could  remember  in  the  quiet  monotony  of  her  life,  were 
the  transitions  of  the  seasons,  the  advent  of  a  stranger  to 
the  country  parsonage,  the  death  of  her  venerable  nurse 
and  instructress,  and  the  recent  sickness  of  her  beloved 
guardian.  When  a  child  she  had  often  wondered  if  she 
was  like  other  children  who  had  mothers,  for  she  had 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  II 

never  heard  the  name  of  her's  mentioned,  and  she  early 
came  to  understand  that  the  subject  was  a  shrouded 
mystery  in  the  household.  All  she  knew  of  her  father 
was  from  a  painting  of  a  roguish-looking  boy  hanging 
in  her  grandmother's  room,  and  smiling  down  upon  her 
with  eyes  marvelously  like  her  own. 

She  had  been  taught  obedience,  and  was  forbidden  to 
speak  of  her  parents,  but,  naturally  enough,  her  thoughts 
often  invaded  the  terra  incognita,  and  there  built  up 
shadow-structures  of  the  wildest  character.  It  came  to 
be  a  region  of  enchanting  dreams,  where  her  ardent 
imagination  disported  with  the  joyous  freedom  of 
youth,  her  clouded  parentage  being  at  once  the  motive 
and  the  shrine  of  her  roaming  fancies. 

Mrs.  Clifford  belonged  to  a  noble  old  family  whose 
reputation  was  without  a  blemish,  and  Echo's  father 
was  the  only  Clifford  whose  crimes,  or  misfortunes,  as 
the  world  may  be  pleased  to  regard  them,  had  cast  a 
stain  upon  the  bright  escutcheon  of  the  race.  Carefully 
educated,  with  a  pleasing  face  and  elegant  manners,  she 
loved  and  wedded  a  gallant  young  officer  of  the  British 
army,  whom  she  accompanied  to  India.  The  courageous 
and  faithful  services  of  her  husband  caused  him  to  be 
rapidly  promoted,  but  having  received  a  severe  wound 
he  was  transferred  to  England,  whence,  having  ap 
parently  recovered,  he  was  assigned  a  command  at  Que 
bec,  Canada.  Here  the  old  wound  broke  out  afresh, 
however,  and  he  soon  after  died  from  its  effects,  leaving 
one  child,  a  bright  boy,  to  be  the  care  and  consolation 
of  his  bereaved  widow. 

After  the  death   of  her  husband,   the  general,  M 


12  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

Clifford  took  a  lease  of  the  cottage  we  have  described, 
where  she  lived  in  the  strictest  retirement  with  the 
members  of  her  own  household,  which,  besides  herself, 
consisted  of  her  son,  a  single  servant,  and  her  son's  in 
structress,  a  thoroughly  educated  but  impoverished  gen 
tlewoman,  a  distant  relative  of  the  family. 

Cleave  was  a  handsome,  passionate,  wayward  boy, 
who  at  times  seemed  to  possess  the  attributes  of  an 
angel,  and  at  others  those  of  a  devil.  In  the  course  of 
events  he  graduated  at  Yale  with  honor,  and  then  went 
to  the  celebrated  University  of  Heidelberg,  Germany,  to 
complete  his  studies.  He  resided  three  years  in  the 
University,  during  which  time  Mrs.  Clifford  received 
many  loving  letters  from  him  in  answer  to  her  own, 
which  invariably  inclosed  generous  remittances  and 
much  good  advice — both  of  which  were  prodigally 
wasted.  Then  came  a  strange  rumor  of  his  marriage, 
after  which  his  correspondence  was  fitful  and  unsatis 
factory,  and  at  last  ceased  altogether. 

One  Christmas  night,  shortly  after  retiring,  Mrs.  Clif 
ford  was  awakened  by  a  startling  sound.  It  resembled 
the  wail  of  an  infant,  and  seemed  to  proceed  from  the 
vicinity  of  the  door,  outside.  Having  called  her  servant, 
she  opened  the  door  with  no  little  agitation,  and,  to  her 
dismay,  discovered  a  large  basket  upon  the  doorstep, 
which  was  soon  ascertained  to  contain  a  girl  baby, 
warmly  wrapped  in  several  shawls,  to  one  of  which  was 
pinned  a  note  in  the  hand-writing  of  her  son.  With 
dimmed  eyes  she  read  : 

"DEAR  MOTHER  : 

This  child  is  mine.     Take  her  to  your  heart   in   the 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  13 

place  of  your  wayward  but  loving  son.  My  wife  was 
false,  and  my  hands  are  stained  with  the  blood  of  her 
destroyer.  Let  the  memory  of  the  deed,  of  me,  and  of 
her  that  was  once  mine,  fall  into  the  abyss  of  oblivion ; 
but  for  my  sake,  I  implore  yon,  receive  the  child  and 
rear  her  as  your  own.  We  shall  probably  never  meet 
on  earth,  but  will,  I  hope,  in  the  shadowless  hereafter. 
Till  then,  farewell !  CLEAVE." 

It  was  after  reading  this  letter  that  Mrs.  Clifford  sank 
under  the  first  paralytic  stroke.  Time  had  mitigated 
the  poignancy  of  her  grief  somewhat  by  thrusting  the 
bright  face  of  the  child  between  her  and  the  shadow  of 
her  son's  misfortune.  She  hoped,  in  her  sequestered 
cottage  life,  to  shield  her  darling  Echo  from  all  knowl 
edge  of  the  sins  and  follies  of  the  world,  and  the  dis 
honor  of  her  parents.  She  now,  however,  saw  the  fool 
ishness  of  withdrawing  herself  from  all  social  relations 
and  public  interests.  She  had  outlived  the  companions 
of  former  years,  and  her  life,  but  for  the  summer  radi 
ance  that  breathed  about  her  beautiful  protege,  was  as 
desolate  as  an  arctic  winter.  At  her  death  the  pension 
which  sufficed  for  their  moderate  way  of  living  would 
cease  entirely,  and  her  beautiful  charge  would  be  left 
alone  in  the  world  without  protection  and  support.  In 
that  event  the  tender  nursing  which  had  developed  the 
innocence  and  purity  of  her  darling's  character,  and  the 
diligence  with  which  she  had  been  guarded  from  the 
knowledge  and  contamination  of  worldly  evil,  would 
illy  fit  .her  for  the  trials  and  temptations  which  she  must 
inevitably  meet  in  the  untried  ways  of  life. 

About  a  fortnight  from  our  first  glimpse  of  the  quiet 
life  in  the  cottage,  the  Rev.  John  Hoberg,  rector  of  the 


14  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

parish,  called  upon  Mrs.  Clifford,  and,  to  his  surprise, 
was  cordially  received  by  the  old  lady,  who  was  greatly 
improved  in  mind.  It  transpiring  during  the  interview 
that  the  rector,  accompanied  by  his  son  and  daughter, 
the  latter  a  young  lady  of  Echo's  age,  was  contempla 
ting  a  visit  to  Quebec  on  the  following  day,  Mrs.  Clif 
ford  proposed  that  Echo  should  accompany  the  party, 
which  was  readily  acceded  to,  the  clear-headed  and  some 
what  belligerent  clergyman  thoroughly  approving  of 
Mrs.  Clifford's  newly  formed  design  with  regard  to  the 
practical  education  of  her  grandchild. 

"Right?  Of  course  you  are  right,  my  dear  lady. 
The  fruit  of  that  forbidden  tree  conies  to  us  all,  but  we 
can  make  it  a  tree  of  .life.  Ignorance  is  not  bliss;  it  is 
death.  There  is  no  room  on  earth  for  the  idler  and  the 
coward,  and,  I  fear,  no  hope  in  Heaven!" 

Mrs.  Clifford  winced  a  little  at  this  sturdy  way  of 
putting  the  question,  but  she  knew  that  he  was  right, 
and  was  only  anxious  to  relieve  her  past  error  by  allow 
ing  Echo  to  take  her  place  among  the  struggling  mil 
lions  of  mankind,  and  work  out  a  destiny  of  her  own. 
These  conclusions  cost  her  a  heart-rending  effort,  but 
she  was  strong  of  purpose  when  the  path  of  duty  be 
came  plain,  and  no  selfish  yearning  for  love  and  com 
panionship  in  her  old  age  could  now  deter  her  from  the 
course  she  had  determined  to  pursue. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning  when  Echo 
kissed  her  grandmother  good-bye  for  the  tenth  time, 
and  said:  "Mrs.  Hoberg  is  coming  to  stay  with  you 
while  I  am  away,  so  you  will  not  miss  me  so  very  much, 
will  you,  dear?" 


WHAT   CAME    OF    IT.  t5 

"  Docs  the  eavth  miss  the  sun,  or  the  plant  its  leaves 
and  flowers,  Echo?" 

"Then  whv  do  you  wish  me  to  go,  grandmother?" 

"Because,  child,  I  have  kept  you  too  much  secluded, 
and  it  is  time  that  you  knew  something  of  the  world. 
But  Mr.  Hoberg'is  waiting;  a  happy  Journey  and  safe 
return,  my  darling!" 

It  was  a  transcendcntly  lovely  morning.  The  earth 
was  flooded  with  the  liquid  gold  of  the  sunlight,  and 
the  stainless  dome  of  heaven  was  a  dream  of  the  purest 
violet.  Song,  fragrance,  youth,  hope,  beauty,  crowned 
the  perfect  day,  and  these,  with  the  exhilaration  of  the 
ride,  and  cheerful  company,  and  the  nameless  stir  and 
enthusiasm  of  her  undisciplined  heart,  made  the  occasion 
linger,  long  after,  like  a  glittering  arch,  in  Echo's 
memory. 

Having  arrived  at  Montreal  and  secured  their  state 
rooms  on  the  steamer  for  Quebec,  there  was  yet  time 
enough  at  their  disposal  for  a  ramble  about  the  city. 
From  one  of  the  towers  of  the  Catholic  Cathedral,  three 
of  which  rise  to  the  height  of  two  hundred  and  twenty 
feet,  they  had  a  magnificent  view  of  the  city  and  sur 
rounding  country.  The  superb  island  upon  which  the 
city  stands  was  flooded  with  sunshine,  and  lovely  beyond 
expression.  The  massive  quay,  the  splendid  streets,  the 
shifting  gleams  of  the  white  sails  on  the  sparkling  river, 
and  the  sombre  splendor  of  the  northern  forests  com 
bined  to  fill  up  a  picture  of  surpassing  beauty. 

Having  visited'  the  principal  buildings,  including 
Government  House,  the  Church  of  England,  and  the 
Bank,  the  party  repaired  to  the  steamer,  and,  in  due 


1 6  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

course  of  time,  arrived  at  their  destination.  On  the 
Friday  following  they  visited  the  fortress,  or  Gibraltar 
of  America,  as  it  is  called,  which  is  built  upon  an 
enormous  rock  standing  out  boldly  to  the  height  of 
three  hundred  and  fifty  feet  above  the  river.  They 
spent  a  delightful  week  in  Quebec.  Before  embarking 
for  home,  they  ascended  one  of  the  steeples  of  the  city 
for  a  farewell  view.  To  the  imaginative  soul  of  Echo 
the  curtain  of  the  past  lifted  as  she  gazed,  and  the  Plains 
of  Abraham  were  re-peopled  with  the  shades  of  herees. 
Upon  the  sky  great  clouds,  luminous  with  a  soft  splen 
dor,  roll  back  in  fantastic  shapes  and  disclose  the  star- 
sown  blue  of  illimitable  space.  But  hark!  what  breaks 
the  stillness  of  the  lovely  June  night?  What  means 
the  moving  mass  of  shadows  on  yonder  green-gemmed, 
silver-girded  Island  of  Orleans?  The  shadows  are  upon 
the  water,  now,  and  pass  like  slow,  sailing  clouds,  to  the 
deeper  shade  of  the  moon-lit  cliffs  of  Abraham.  Now 
shade  after  shade  moves  laboriously  up  the  rocky  steep. 
The  shadows  are  troops;  it  is  a  storming  column  ! 
Up,  up,  steadily  up,  they  go  with  bated  breath  and 
fiercely  beating  hearts!  What  are  their  thoughts?  Do 
they  think  of  to-morrow,  and  yesterday,  and  the  years 
long  gone?  Surely  their  minds  are  not  wholly  occupied 
by  the  arduous  labor  and  the  petty  details  of  their  ter 
rible  enterprise!  No;  thoughts  of  home  and  dear  ones 
and  the  sweets  of  life  come  to  them  in  a  thousand  se 
ductive  shapes;  but  they  are  climbing  to  glory,  and  they 
persevere!  And  then  an  electric  flash  of  the  rapt 
maiden's  soul  reveals  the  tragedy  of  the  morrow.  It 
is  yet  gray  dawn  when  the  vision  opens,  and  an  army 


\VJIAf   CAME   OF   It.  ^1^ 

is  drawn  up  in  battle  array  on  the  plains  above!  Now 
the  risen  sun  flashes  on  scarlet  uniforms,  golden  epaulets, 
and  polished  steel!  The  command  to  advance  is  given, 
and  the  serene  summer  morning  is  suddenly  clouded 
and  roaring  with  battle!  The  stormy  pageant  passes; 
Montcalm  is  wounded  unto  death,  and  the  heroic  Wolfe 
has  fallen  with  the  memorable  words  of  triumph  on  his 
lips! 

Echo  started  and  blushed  as  a  hand  touched  her  arm, 
and  a  kind  voice  said :  "What,  dreaming  again  ?  I 
really  fear  that  you  will  yet  vanish  into  a  myth  as  beau 
tiful  and  unattainable  as  your  classic  namesake."  It 
was  the  younger  Mr.  Hoberg  who  spoke. 

"Lo,  Narcissus  speaks!"  said  his  playful  sister;  "I 
should  like  to  see  the  nymph  that  would  pine  away  for 
any  modern  youth!  But,  brother  mine,  do  you  not 
think  the  scene  enchanting?*' 

o 

"Exceedingly  so."  His  gaze  was  lingering  upon  the 
fair  face  of  Echo,  and  not  the  glowing  landscape. 

"Do  you  not  believe,"  said  Echo,  turning  to  the  pas 
tor,  "that  the  loveliness  of  earth  is  but  a  shadow  of  the 
infinite  glory  of  Heaven?*' 

"Are  you  not  happier  for  believing  so,  my  child?"  he 
said. 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"  Papa,"  interrupted  the  daughter,  "  we  Will  surely  be 
too  late  for  the  boat  if  we  linger  here." 

"Even  so,  my  daughter;  it  is  time  to  go." 

The  return  to  Montreal  was  accomplished  without 
incident  worthy  of  note.  Their  carriage  awaited  them 
at  the  wharf;  and  after  a  pleasant  ride  of  short  duration^ 


*8  WHAT   CAME    OF    if. 

Echo  was  bending  over  her  grandmother  with  tender 
caresses — a  radiant  wreath  of  summer  over  the  hoary 
serenity  of  winter. 

In  the  morning  Echo  gathered  a  fresh  bouquet  of 
flowers  for  her  grandmother,  who  seemed  to  be  wrapped 
in  tranquil  slumber,  and  placed  them  where  her  gaze 
would  rest  upon  them  the  first  thing  when  she  awoke. 

But,  alas!  in  the  dead  hours  of  the  night  the  in 
evitable  visitor  had  silently  entered  the  cottage  door  and 
quenched  the  flickering  lamp  of  that  aged  life.  The 
wrinkled  hands  were  folded  upon  her  pulseless  bosom, 
and  there  was  nothing  left  but  the  way-worn  frame — • 
the  devastation  and  mystery  of  death ! 


•«• 


CHAPTER  II. 

'HEN  the  funeral  rites  were  over,  Echo  was 
taken  to  the  house  of  the  warm-hearted 
pastor.  Tenderly  helping  her  out  of  the 
carriage,  he  whispered,  "  Fear  not,  my  child, 
the  Father  of  the  orphan  is  yours  now;  it  will  be 
His  good  pleasure  to  attend  you  in  every  trial.  Learn 
to  lean  upon  His  arm  with  child-like  trust;  He  is 
mighty  and  full  of  mercy  and  loving-kindness.  We 
accept  you  as  a  gracious  charge  from  Him,  and  this 
house  shall  be  your  home."  Then  gently  leading  the 
stricken  girl  to  an  easy  chair,  he  called  cheerfully, 
"  Come,  mother,  welcome  our  daughter  home!" 

Although  Mr.  Hoberg  had  a  large  and  growing 
family  of  his  own,  his  heart  and  his  home,  to  use  a 
homely  comparison,  were  in  one  respect  like  a  city  om 
nibus — there  was  always  room  for  one  more.  His  wrife, 
though  a  kind-hearted  woman,  inwardly  sighed  as  she 
endeavored  to  greet  the  poor  girl  in  a  motherly  way, 
.and  thought  of  the  lean  family  larder.  Upon  intima 
ting  her  prudent  course  to  her  husband,  however,  he 
replied  with  his  favorite  quotation — "  Seek  not  ye  what 
ye  shall  eat,  or  what  ye  shall  drink,  neither  be  ye  of 
doubtful  mind.  But  rather  seek  ye  the  kingdom  of  God, 
and  all  these  things  shall  be  added  unto  you." 

About  a  fortnight  before  Christmas,  as  the  family  at 


20  \VllAT   cAMfe  OF   IT. 

the  parsonage  were  grouped  one  evening  about  a  cheer 
ful  fire  in  the  sitting-room,  one  of  Mr.  Hoberg's 
younger  sons,  who  had  just  returned  from  the  city  with 
the  mail,  handed  the  father  a  package  of  periodicals  and 
letters.  One  of  the  letters  was  from  his  son,  Arthur, 
at  Quebec,  and  announced  the  intention  of  that  young 
gentleman  of  spending  the  holidays  at  home.  lie  was 
recently  graduated  in  medicine,  and  was  anxious  to  locate 
for  practice  in  some  town  or  village  with  miasmatic 
accessories  and  a  general  disposition  to  derange  its 
digestion  and  break  its  bones. 

The  other  letter  was  from  Mrs.  Ainsley,  a  wealthy 
invalid  lady,  and  an  old  friend  of  the  pastor's,  to  whom 
she  wrote  for  assistance  in  procuring  a  suitable  young 
lady  to  live  with  her  as  a  companion.  The  young  lady 
in  question  was  to  be  of  good  character,  educated  and 
amiable. 

Echo  was  all  attention  as  these  things  were  being  an 
nounced,  and  then,  looking  towards  Mr.  Hobcrg  with 
kindling  expectation  in  her  eyes,  inquired : 

"Do  you  think  that  I  have  the  qualifications  required 
by  the  lady?" 

"  Most  assuredly  you  have,"  he  replied,  smiling. 

"You  will  then  be  so  kind  as  to  recommend  me  at 
once,  will  you  not?  " 

"  Is  our  daughter  weary  of  her  home  so  soon?" 

"No,  indeed;  but  I  must  be  doing  something  for 
myself." 

"Well,  dear,  your  happiness  and  prosperity  are  a  pre 
cious  charge  to  me.  The  roses  have  been  fading  from 
your  cheeks  of  late,  and  perhaps  a  change  and  an  ad- 


WHAT   CAME   OF   1T»  21 

ditional  interest  in  the  actualities  of  life  will  be  best  for 
you.  You  cannot  know  how  sincerely  we  shall  regret 
to  lose  your  companionship,  but,  we  shall  not  lose 
you  entirely,  I  am  sure,  and  our  prayers  \vill  attend  you 
always." 

"  Thank  you,  a  thousand  times,  my  dear  friend;  wher 
ever  I  go  my  heart  shall  not  stray  from  those  who  have 
been  so  kind  to  me.  When  do  you  think  of  writing?'' 

"  Immediately,  and  if  the  answer  prove  favorable, 
Arthur  can  accompany  you  to  Mrs.  Ainslie's." 

The  pastor's  recommendation  having  been  favorably 
received,  the  necessary  details  as  to  salary,  duties,  and 
the  like,  were  readily  agreed  upon,  and  preparations 
were  made  for  Echo's  departure. 

It  was  three  days  before  Christmas.  The  fire  blaz 
ing  upon  the  cleanly-swrept  hearth  illuminated  the 
pleasant  sitting  room  of  the  parsonage  with  a  cheerful 
glow.  The  family  had  accepted  an  invitation  to  dinner 
and  Echo,  at  her  own  request,  was  left  alone.  The 
snow  had  been  falling  in  large,  feathery  flakes  for  some 
time,  weaving  its  beautiful  ermine  upon  the  bare  limbs 
of  the  trees,  and  covering  the  earth  with  a  star-white 
robe,  embellished  with  crystal  daisies.  After  her  lonely 
dinner,  Echo  seated  herself  at  the  piano  and,  running 
her  fingers  softly  over  the  keys,  began  humming  an  old 
hymn  tune,  a  great  favorite  of  her  grandmother.  While 
absorbed  in  music,  she  had  not  heard  the  arrival  of  a 
horseman  at  the  gate,  or  the  manly  step  which  had 
halted  upon  the  threshold  of  the  apartment.  She  was 
unconscious  of  the  admiring  gaze  of  a  pair  of  dark 
grey  eyes,  so  steadily  regarding  her,  and  of  the  waves 


5*2  WHAT    CAMfe    01?    IT. 

of  emotion  passing  over  the  intellectual  face  of  the 
noble,  dignified  gentleman,  who  stood  as  if  rooted  to 
the  spot,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe  for  fear  of  betraying 
his  presence.  As  the  sounds  ceased,  the  gentleman  sud 
denly  became  aware  of  the  awkardness  of  his  position, 
and,  stepping  slightly  back,  knocked  upon  the  open 
door.  Crossing  the  room,  Echo  stood  face  to  face  with 
Arthur.  It  was  the  first  time  they  had  met  since  her 
bereavement.  Her  face  flushed  hotly  beneath  his  ardent 
gaze  as  he  bowed  over  her  hand,  saying,  in  a  thrilling 
voice,  "  Have  you  no  words  with  which  to  welcome  a 
homesick  prodigal?  " 

"  Your  mother  will  be  delighted  to  see  you,  Mr.  Ho- 
berg,"  she  said  with  some  confusion. 

"  Will  you  not  be   kind   enough  to  call  me  Arthur?  " 

"  Certainly,  if  you  wish  it," 

"Is  mother  the  only  one  who  will  be  happier  because 
of  my  return  ?  " 

"  No.  I  presume  that  every  individual  member  of 
the  family  will  rejoice  at  your  presence.  Please  be 
seated;"  with  a  wave  of  the  white  hand  and  a  gracious 
smile.  "  Your  family  will  be  agreeably  surprised  at 
your  return,  as  they  were  not  expecting  you  until  to 
morrow." 

"No  doubt;  but  all  this  reminds  me  of  the  French 
aphorism  about  language  being  invented  for  the  pur 
pose  of  concealing  our  thoughts;  you  have  not  an 
swered  my  former  question." 

"  I  have  forgotten  what  it  was." 

Rising  from  his  chair,  and  seating  himself  at  her  side: 
u  You  were  not  wont  to  be  so  absent-minded.  Are 


WHAT  CAME  OF  IT.  23 

you  not  glad  to  see  me?"  He  took  her  hand  as  he  ques 
tioned  her,  and  held  it  with  a  gentle  pressure. 

Her  face  flushed  crimson  as  she  endeavored  to  answer 
with  indifference,  "  Of  course." 

There  was  a  sound  of  bells,  and  a  stamping  of  feet  at 
the  entrance.  The  door  opened  and  then  came  expres 
sions  of  surprise  and  pleasure  at  the  presence  of  Arthur, 
and  the  evening  was  spent  in  agreeable  conversation. 
The  mother's  eyes  sparkled  with  pride  and  the  father 
smiled  approval  as  Arthur  told  of  a  difficult  surgical 
operation  which  he  had  successfully  performed — one 
which  had  spread  his  fame  widely  and  marked  him  as  a 
rising  man.  Every  face  expressed  sympathy  as  he 
spoke  of  the  loneliness  and  despair  of  the  three  weary 
months  of  waiting  for  the  patients  that  never  came. 
But  now  all  this  had  changed.  His  signal  success  in  a 
notable  case  had  suddenly  opened  the  door  of  fortune 
to  him,  and  henceforth  his  way  was  broad  and  clear. 
Thus,  after  the  manner  of  young  men,  Arthur  grew 
eloquent  about  himself  to  the  delight  of  his  partial  au 
ditory,  and  the  hours  sped  on  fragrant  wings.  After 
reading  of  the  Scriptures,  and  prayer  by  the  good-souled 
pastor,  they  all  joined  in  a  vocal  and  instrumental  praise 
concert,  and  the  delightful  evening  was  concluded. 

Arthur  dreamed  of  many  delicious  things  that  night,  as 
became  him,  and  then  drifted  off  into  a  series  of  vague 
though  startling  adventures  with  a  black  cat,  from 
whose  machinations  he  was  only  relieved  by  the  inter 
position  of  a  maiden  with  nut-brown  hair  and  magnetic 
eyes* 

Not  to  steep  an  obvious  fact  in  ethereal  moonshine j  it 


24  WHAT   CAME   OF   IT. 

may  as  well  be  said  that  the  young  people  were  in  love 
with  each  other.  In  due  course  of  time,  and  in  the 
usual  way,  their  mutual  emotions  wrere  interpreted  and 
given  a  local  habitation  and  a  name. 

They  were  engaged  to  be  married. 

And  right  here  the  reader  is  on  slippery  ground;  for 
if  the  course  of  true  love  runs  smooth,  the  palatial  plan 
of  this  fiction  will  tumble  into  ruin  and  disclose  a  spec 
tacle  too  ordinary  to  be  attractive.  We  shall  see. 

The  salary  offered  Echo  was  liberal,  and  she  insisted 
on  fulfilling  the  engagement  for  a  year.  By  that  time, 
Arthur  would  be  fully  established  in  his  noble  profes 
sion,  and  then  the  twin  souls  could  flow  together  under 
the  arch  of  Hymen. 

The  thought  of  dwelling  in  the  same  city  with  her 
beloved,  mitigated  the  sorrow  of  the  young  lady  at  part 
ing  from  the  kind  family  at  the  parsonage. 

Amid  kisses,  smiles  and  tears,  Arthur  helped  his 
fiancee  into  the  sleigh  and  they  were  off.  She  kept  her 
handkerchief  fluttering  farewells  in  the  air,  and  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears  as  she  looked  back  and  saw  the  family 
group  still  lingering  in  the  cold  air  for  a  last  look — the 
stately,  reverend  form  of  Mr.  Hoberg  the  center  of  all. 

"Do  you  remember  our  last  summer's  visit?"  said 
Arthur,  as  the  mettled  horses  dashed  along  the  snowy 
track. 

"How  could  I  ever  forget  it?"  she  replied. 

"  I  think  that  I  never  fully  appreciated  the  beauties 
of  nature  until  then;  it  was  on  that  day  that  I  realized 
for  the  first  time  how  dear  you  were  to  me." 


WHAT    CAME   OF    IT.  25 

Their  eyes  met,  and  she  dreamily  murmured :  "  How 
sweet  it  is  to  be  beloved!" 

"  My  darling,  earth  contains  no  greater  boon.  With 
out  the  presence  of  love  the  human  heart  were  an  empty 
chamber  of  funeral  echoes.  It  is  the  fragrance  of  life, 
the  flower  of  virtue,  and  the  fruit  of  hope!" 

"  Do  you  not  think  that  excessive  love  is  sinful?  I 
have  tried  to  exorcise  the  deep  feeling  which  at  times 
seems  to  absorb  every  other  faculty  of  my  being  for  fear 
of  denying  the  dues  of  God  alone."  She  said  this  softly, 
with  tender  pathos,  as  she  nestled  closely  to  his  side. 

"  I  hope  that  you  will  not  succeed,  dearest,  for  love  is 
not  to  be  restrained.  It  is  the  divine  elixir  which  nour 
ishes  the  soul  to  the  fullest,  freest,  sweetest  life — a 
glowing  cup  of  joy  in  which  doubt  should  cast  no  shadow 
and  sin  no  stain." 

"  But  you  must  admit,"  said  Echo,  thoughtfully,  "  that 
it  causes  much  sorrow  and  suffering." 

"Yes,  dear,  just  as  everything  good  and  beautiful  in 
nature  may  be  wronged  by  our  conception  of  it,  per 
verted  to  ignoble  uses  and  vitiated  by  impurity;  and 
much  more  so  all  human  faculties  and  sensations." 

"  Yes,  it  must  be  so,  and  I  am  thankful  that  it  is. 
Since  you  assured  me  of  your  affection,  vistas  of  happi 
ness,  golden,  immeasurable,  have  opened  up  before  me, 
and  the  very  air  is  odorous  with  heavenly  wings.  Will 
it  endure,  do  you  think?" 

"God  grant  it,  my  Echo;  rest  assured  that  I  shall 
toil  and  pray  for  the  perpetuation  of  our  beautiful 
estate." 

But  the  delightful  journey  was  concluded  all  too  soon, 


26  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

and  Echo,  with  the  warm  pressure  of  his  hand  at  part 
ing  yet  lingering  in  her  veins,  was  ushered  into  the 
magnificent  mansion  of  Mrs.  Ainsley,  where,  in  a  sump 
tuously  furnished  drawing-room,  the  lady  was  waiting 
to  receive  her.  She  was  a  small,  faded  woman,  and  in 
the  bloom  of  her  youth  had  been  a  handsome  blonde; 
but  in  her  manner  there  was  an  appearance  of  weak 
ness  and  indecision. 

A  bright,  amiable  and  attractive  girl  like  Echo  could 
infuse  new  life  into  her  stale  existence,  and  they  were 
soon  on  the  friendliest  terms  with  each  other.  There 
was  one  pale  cloud  of  trouble,  however.  Mrs.  Ainsley 
had  a  son  then  traveling  in  Europe,  upon  whose  sus 
ceptible  heart  she  began  to  fear  that  her  lovely  com 
panion  would  produce  a  dangerous  impression. 


CHAPTER    III. 

'ARIS!  the  gay,  volatile,  magnificent,  when 
calm,  but  dark  and  terrible  when  convulsed 
with  rage,  laboring  with  in-bred  wrongs  and 
thundering  forth  complaint!  The  beautiful 
city,  as  we  look  upon  it,  is  marked  by  mighty  changes. 
A  new  god,  Equity,  is  enthroned  upon  the  ruins  of 
splendid  monarchies,  and  a  new  phrase,  u  The  inalien 
able  rights  of  man,"  is  in  the  mouths  of  Frenchmen. 
The  people  have  refused  to  give  that  brow-sweat  which, 
under  the  providence  of  God,  is  the  price  of  bread  and 
all  earthly  goods,  for  the  barren  splendor  of  hereditary 
royalty,  and  the  glittering  pageant  has  dissolved. 

Standing  in  the  Elysian  Fields,  in  the  midst  of  classic 
splendor,  you  are  led  to  ask  yourself,  Where  now  are 
the  graceful  fancies,  the  fertile  imaginations  which 
shaped  these  lovely  fountains  and  pillars  of  gilded 
bronze,  these  superb  marble  statues,  and  invested  them 
with  the  glowing  life  of  genius?  There,  too,  stands 
the  grand  triumphal  arch  erected  by  Napoleon  in  com 
memoration  of  his  Italian  victories — a  stately  suggestion 
of  the  mockery  of  ambition,  and  of  the  foible  side  of 
the  iron  Emperor.  What  dizzy  triumphs  were  those 
of  Napoleon,  and  yet  France,  the  monument  of  his 
glory,  is  the  sounding  sepulchre  of  his  perished  vanity! 
As  the  years  sweep  along,  the  multitudes  thronging  in 


28  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

the  city  he  enriched  with  a  thousand  victories  will  forget 
him,  and  only  along  the  sepulchral  corridors  of  history 
will  the  great  name  resound.  The  breath  of  posthu 
mous  fame  has  a  taint  of  the  charnel,  and  its  living  voice 
is  plebian  with  garlic  and  cabbage. 

O  Time!  shapeless  and  absorbent  shade!  how  the 
good,  the  brave, the  beautiful,  feed  thy  monster  famine! 
Gone  are  the  thinkers  whose  minds  and  hands  enriched 
the  Elysian  Fields  with  works  of  art;  but  the  solid 
structure  of  their  massy  thoughts  remains  to  instruct 
and  gladden  us  still. 

As  our  feet  tread  the  soil  of  the  Place  de  la  Concorde 
the  red  spectre  of  the  guillotine,  the  shame  and  horror 
of  France,  darkens  upon  the  mind,  and  there  moves 
again  the  ghastly  procession  of  doomed  beauty,  valor, 
wisdom  and  royalty.  It  was  here  that  the  mills  of  ret 
ribution  ground  out  punishment  to  Robespierre,  and 
the  despoiler  was  in  turn  despoiled.  Again,  as  the 
vision  passes,  the  beautiful  head  of  Charlotte  Cord  ay, 
bends  beneath  that  historic  blade,  and  again  the  indig 
nant  clouds  flush  crimson  at  the  scene! 

But  the  crime  of  Paris  is  not  unique.  The  Reign  of 
Terror  goes  back  into  the  dim  history  of  the  past,  and 
blackens  the  stream  of  tradition.  The  human  race  has 
fought  its  way  to  the  dawn,  and  stands  forth  now  but 
half  redeemed,  grim  with  battle-blood  and  scars.  Alas! 
when  shall  the  happy  day  arrive  when  intellect  shall  be 
crowned  above  the  passions,  and  the  jewel-clasp  of 
mercy  shall  bind  all  hearts  in  universal  love? 

On  the  banks  of  the  Seine  and  in  sight  of  the  Champs 
Elysees,  or  Elysian  Fields,  as  it  is  more  frequently 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  29 

called,  which  is  only  a  continuation  of  the  grand  garden 
of  the  Tuilleries,  there  stood  a  magnificent  old  mansion 
which  nature  had  done  much  and  art  still  more  to  beau 
tify  and  adorn.  The  taste  and  refinement  displayed  in 
furnishing  and  embellishing  this  spacious  mansion 
within  was  altogether  in  keeping  with  the  acute  dis 
cernment  and  application  of  an  elegant  taste  in  the  o'r- 
namentation  of  the  exterior.  A  portly,  pleasant-faced 
old  lady  standing  at  the  casement  said,  in  a  mixture  of 
French  and  bad  English, "  Wont  ma  chere  madame  see  ze 
beauty  of  ze  sunseW  The  interrogatory  was  addressed 
to  some  one  within,  who  nonchalantly  approached  the 
window  and  looked  forth  with  a  restless  air  which  be 
tokened  a  heavy  heart  or  preoccupied  mind.  The  indi 
vidual  was  a  lady  of  attractive  presence,  whose  form, 
features  and  general  expression  suggested  cultivation 
of  mind  and  purity  of  character.  The  dark  face,  in  its 
frame  of  silver  hair,  at  once  arrested  marked  attention. 
Her  voice,  when  she  addressed  some  careless  remark  to 
the  lady  mentioned,  was  observed  to  be  low  and  musi 
cal,  with  a  strange  quality  in  its  tone  capable  of  thrilling 
effect.  She  was  arrayed  in  deep  mourning,  only  re 
lieved  by  a  ruff  of  rare  old  lace  at  the  wrists  and  neck. 
There  was  a  pathetic,  hungry  look  in  her  deep  dark 
eyes,  haunting  the  beholder  with  their  mournful  splen 
dor,  like  a  melody  of  Beethoven. 

Does  the  reader  detect  any  resemblance  between  this 
lady  and  our  young  heroine?  There  should  be;  it  is 
Lady  Clifford,  the  mother  of  Echo.  Gazing  a  moment 
on  the  fading  pageant  of  day  she  returned  to  her  seat 


30  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

with  a  heavy  sigh.  Her  old  nurse,  Ninee,  closed  the 
window  and  drew  the  curtains,  saying, 

"  Mais  ayons,  'patience,  Madame" 

Patience,  Ninee,  is  the  frozen  rock  to  which  we  cling 
in  the  shipwreck  of  hope — the  dernier  resort  of  broken 
souls.  And  then  there  must  be  hope,  or  patience  has  a 
darker  name — despair,"  she  said  wearily,  as  if  in  revery. 

"  Je  n'en  doute  pas,  my  Lady." 

"Ah,  Ninee,  you  will  never  learn  English,  I  fear." 

"  Cest  vrai.n 

"  Only  think,  Ninee,"  said  the  lady,  after  a  pause,  "  my 
little  one  is  almost  seventeen,  that  is,  if  she  be  living. 
If  I  could  see  her  only  once  and  know  that  she  is  pros 
perous,  a  heavenly  content  would  be  mine. 

"A  thousand  questions  concerning  her  recur  in  my 
mind.  Has  he  taught  her  to  hate  me,  or  does  she  think 
me  dead?  What  have  I  done  that  the  duties  and  priv 
ileges  of  a  mother  should  be  taken  from  me  and  intrusted 
to  a  stranger,"  she  continued.  Though  the  criminal 
injustice  of  believing  a  wife  unchaste  without  positive 
proof  was  detestable,  the  prodigious  misdeed  which  sev 
ered  the  tender  relationship  between  mother  and  child  is 
more  inhuman  and  revolting. 

She  mused  awhile  and  resumed,  as  was  her  custom, 
talking  at  instead  of  to  her  nurse : 

"  Maternity  is  the  crowning  dignity  of  womanhood; 
it  has  a  secret,  ennobling  influence  upon  the  character, 
and  elevates  the  purposes  of  life.  It  broadens  and 
deepens  the  subtle  currents  of  the  mind  and  fructifies 
the  soul.  The  unselfish  forbearance  of  a  mother  ap 
proaches,  at  a  tender  distance,  the  immeasurable  goodness 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  3! 

of  Christ,  the  divine  kindness  that  burst  in  crimson 
flower  on  the  cross!  Oh,  the  blind  jealousy  of  my 
misjudging  husband!  The  way  to  make  me  the  false, 
vile  thing  he  thought  me,  was  to  deprive  me  of  the  in 
nocent  trusting  eyes  and  clinging  arms  of  my  little  one. 
But,  all  these  years,  the  thought  of  her  has  saved  me. 
The  hope  that  we  will  ultimately  be  united  has  sus 
tained  me  in  every  trial." 

"  Ze  'ell  is  hot  with  zoul  like  Monsieur." 

"  You  mistake,  Ninee,  the  fire  is  quite  out,  or  never 
was." 

"  //  faut  qu^il  soit  ralhune,  for  Monsieur" 

"  It  is  no  satisfaction  to  me  to  think  that  his  injustice 
will  be  punished." 

"  J^on  ai  bien  de  la  joie" 

"  For  shame,  Ninee  !  your  revengeful  feelings  are 
altogether  tin-Christian,  but  it  is  growing  late,  we  must 
retire." 

"  Je  DOUS  souhaite  tine  bonne  unit,  ]\Iadamc" 

"Thank  you,  Ninee." 

Strange  dreams,  that  night,  hovered  about  her  un 
easy  pillow. 

"Faint,  sweet  sounds  came  floating  down 
From  wings  of  gold." 

An  indescribable  calm  enveloped  her  being.  She 
seemed  to  float  in  central  space,  surrounded  by  im 
penetrable  vapor.  Presently  the  woofy  clouds  rolled 
away,  and  she  saw  an  enormous  tree,  whose  vast  roots, 
like  precious  veins  of  metal,  spread  over  all  the  earth, 
and  whose  branches  towered  and  spread  into  the  bound- 


32  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

less  regions  of  the  infinite.  Over  all  was  a  magnificent 
drapery  of  foliage,  white,  black  and  red.  While  she 
was  }^et  gazing  in  surprise  and  wonder  at  the  phe 
nomenon,  a  vibration  of  the  fragrant  air  gently  shook 
the  tender  leaves  from  the  branches.  Some  curled  and 
withered  as  they  fell,  while  others  were  swept  down 
a  broad  avenue,  where,  drifted  by  chilling  winds,  they 
fell  into  silver-fretted  boxes.  Then  there  sounded  a 
mournful  symphony,  like  the  wail  of  nature  over  her 
dead  children.  Again  other  leaves  were  blown  along 
the  avenue  where  sunshine  and  shadow  wavered  to 
gether,  but  the  greater  mass  of  leaves  was  piled  in  the 
shade,  where  the  ground  was  rough  and  sterile,  and  the 
soft,  smooth  spots  of  green  appeared  more  charming  for 
the  contrast.  Upon  one  leaf  she  saw  that  her  own  name 
was  written,  and  her  whole  interest  was  immediately 
concentrated  in  watching  its  movements.  A  propitious 
breeze  wafted  it  gently  along  the  sunny  side  of  the 
avenue.  Anon  the  wind  suddenly  changed,  and,  catch 
ing  the  leaf  up  fiercely,  hurled  it  along  in  the  darkness. 
While  the  invisible  heart-strings  of  Nature  wailed  and 
shrieked  in  sympathy,  the  heavy  rain-drops  smote  it 
sharply,  and  it  was  bruised  and  frayed  on  the  cruel 
rocks.  At  last  the  sorely  wounded  leaf  sank  upon  a 
rain-smitten  bed  at  the  end  of  the  avenue,  a»d  was  blown 
no  more.  A  beautiful  and  fragrant  little  leaf  then  fell 
upon  its  bosom,  soothing  its  pain,  and  then  there  came 
a  sweet  memory  of  the  parent  tree,  borne  upon  the 
angelic  murmur  of  its  waving  foliage,  and  the  full 
splendor  of  the  sun  flowed  over  its  beauty. 

Lady  Clifford   awoke   with   a  start,  and  the   golden 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  33 

morning  was  aflame  in  the  lace  curtains  of  her  boudoir. 
From  a  neighboring  mansion  came  the  sound  of  music, 
and  she  arose  with  a  strange  presentiment  of  happiness 
in  her  heart.  In  relating  the  strange  dream  to  her  old 
nurse,  she  said:  "  I  shall  always  belijve,  Ninee,  that  the 
dream  was  prophetic,  sufficiently  interpreted  to  my  own 
spirit.  I  am  sure  that  my  little  daughter,  grown 
womanly  and  beautiful,  will  yet  be  restored  to  me.  But 
what  shall  I  do  in  the  meantime?" 

"  If  Madame  would  seek  happiness,"  said  Ninee. 

"Happiness!  What  is  happiness,  Ninee,  but  a  false 
light  along  the  path  of  duty — an  ideal  entity  that 
mortals  never  grasp."  With  this  philosophic  expres 
sion,  so  entirely  at  variance  with  the  prophetic  move 
ments  of  her  own  bosom,  Lady  Clifford  relapsed  into 
silence. 

Just  here  it  is  well  enough  to  develop  something 
further  concerning  the  hidden  springs  of  this  romance. 
The  man  whom  Mr.  Clifford  had  so  brutally  attacked 
was  simply  the  victim  of  an  unhappy  circumstance.  He 
was  privately,  or,  more  correctly  speaking,  clandestinely 
engaged  to  be  married  to  a  young  lady  friend  of  the 
Cliffords,  and,  imprudently,  the  Clifford  residence,  with 
out  the  knowledge  of  the  husband,  had  afforded  a  tryst- 
ing  place  to  the  lovers.  Love  matters  of  this  kind  usu 
ally  go  wrong,  somehow,  and,  in  this  instance,  carried 
destruction  to  the  bosom  of  a  family.  To  forward  this 
sinister  result  there  was  an  lago,  appearing  among  men 
under  the  ordinary  surname  of  Legrand.  Pierre  Le- 
grand  was  a  distant  relative  of  Lady  Clifford,  and  a 
discarded  suitor  for  her  hand,  He  was  next  in  the  line 


34  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

of  heirship  to  the  immense  fortune  held  by  his  cousin, 
and  was  therefore  animated  by  the  powerful  motives  of 
greed  and  revenge  in  attempting  her  destruction.  After 
the  flight  of  Mr.  Clifford  he  had  assumed  the  place  of 
best  friend  and  counsellor  to  the  stricken  lady,  and 
swore  that  he  would  follow  the  husband  over  the  whole 
earth,  if  need  be,  to  recover  the  child. 

He  was  gone  a  year  on  this  business  and  returned  to 
report  that  both  father  and  child  were  dead.  Then, 
insidiously,  he  set  himself  to  work  in  the  hope  of  ulti 
mately  winning  the  heart  of  the  mother;  but  she,  poor 
woman,  mourned  continually,  and  gave  him  no  notice. 
As  the  years  rolled  on,  her  purse  was  perpetually  the 
prey  of  his  rapacity,  but  his  passionate  appeals  for  her 
sympathy  and  affection,  made  no  impression  on  her 
stony  heart.  When  she  told  him  her  dream  and  said : 
"  My  daughter  is  not  dead,"  he  affected  to  give  her 
some  encouragement,  suggesting  with  a  sigh,  that  he 
might  have  been  deceived. 

In  pursuance  of  the  ideas  suggested  by  this  conver 
sation,  Monsieur  Pierre  Legrand,  amply  supplied  with 
money,  was  soon  sailing  over  the  ocean  for  America. 

Six  months  of  waiting  passed,  and  then  one  day 
there  came  the  following  telegram  from  the  New 

World : 

"  NEW  YORK,  April  6,  18 

LADY  CLIFFORD: 

Your  hopes  are  verified.  Will  return  immediately 
with  mademoiselle.  .  PIERRE  LEGRAND." 

On  reading  this  brief  line — ah,  upon  such  a  slender 
thread  hangs  human  happiness! — Lady  Clifford  was  for 
a  moment  overcome  with  emotion.  Thenceforth  the 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  35 

rose  of  happiness  blossomed  in  her  delicate  cheek,  so 
that  Ninee  said  one  day — 

"Ma foil  you  look  like  one  that  has  come  from 
Heaven,  Madame  !  " 

"  You  are  wrong,  then,  Ninee — I  only  see  the  gates  of 
Heaven." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CROSSING  the  Atlantic  in  the  same  vessel 
with  our  wily  friend  Legrand,  was  a  troop  of 
ballet  girls.  Among  these  gay  and  worldly 
terpsichoreans,  who  were  going  out  to  conquer 
anew,  in  the  interest  of  art,  the  mighty  land  of  Colum 
bus,  was  a  handsome  girl  with  blue  eyes,  delicately 
arched  eyebrows, "  and  long  light  hair.  Her  form, 
naturally  fine,  had  been  developed  by  the  training  of 
her  profession,  and  there  was  upon  her  that  glowing 
vesture  of  physical  beauty  which  has  again  and  again 
desolated  the  empires  of  this  world  by  the  quarrels  it 
has  provoked.  Her  heart  was  as  dry  as  a  pin-cushion, 
and  no  more  the  fountain  of  noble  impulses  than  is  that 
article  of  household  economy.  The  world  is  bleak  with 
the  loveliness  of  such  creatures,  and  little  space  need  be 
accorded  to  a  resume  of  her  coarse  attractions. 

It  eminently  became  M.  Legrand,  both  as  a  man  and 
a  Frenchman,  to  make  overtures  for  an  acquaintance 
with  this  young  lady,  a  consummation  which  tolerable 
features,  loud  attire  and  a  waxed  mustache  happily  for 
warded.  Your  elegant  villain  inevitably  drifts  towards 
feminine  allurements  of  the  kind  displayed  by  the  dash 
ing  Zarina,  and  the  pair  were  soon  on  terms  of  the 
closest  intimacy.  They  were  well  met.  Perhaps  they 
were  to  become  necessary  to  each  other  in  the  mazes  of 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  37 

the  plot  which  the  cunning  brain  of  Legrand  was  busily 
weaving. 

Sunset  on  the  open  sea  is  always  a  solemn  and  beau 
tiful  pageant.  Looking  on  such  a  scene  we  realize  the 
inspired  splendor  of  Byron's  ovation,  and  the  sound  of 
the  great  islander's  harp  fitly  accompanies  the  marching 
world  of  waters. 

"  Roll  on,  thou  deep  blue  ocean,  roll 
Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain !" 

The  glory  of  the  parting  sun  was  marshalled  on  the 
sea,  as  Legrand  and  Zarina  paced  the  deck  of  the  good 
ship  "  Achilles." 

"  Very  true,  monsieur,"  said  Zarina,  gracefully  cling 
ing  to  Legrand's  arm,  "  the  emerald  sea  is  all  the  more 
beautiful  for  a  golden  setting." 

"  Everything  on  earth  is  the  more  beautiful  for  a 
golden  setting,  mademoiselle,"  said  the  gentleman,  with 
a  meaning  glance  towards  his  companion.  The  glance 
was  returned  sympathetically,  and  then  he  resumed : 

"  There  is  a  difference,  mademoiselle;  the  sea  has  no 
care,  but,  we,  Ma  foi!  must  scheme  and  labor  for  the 
golden  setting  of  our  lives." 

"Alas,  it  is  true,  monsieur!"  And  thus  these  worthy 
people  enjoyed  the  scene. 

But  a  fatality  lurked  in  the  beauty  of  the  sunset. 
Strange,  copper- hued  clouds  suddenly  arose  as  the 
mighty  orb  dropped  beneath  the  horizon.  The  bronzed 
mariners  recognized  the  signs  of  danger,  and  the  sails 
were  close-reefed  against  the  expected  tempest.  The 
vessel,  with  bared  arms,  head  to  wind,  was  soon  rocking 


38  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

gently  on  the  swell  of  the  ocean,  bravely  awaiting  the 
struggle.  Then  there  were  vivid  flashes,  and  the  sud 
den  crash  of  angry  thunder.  A  few  flying  rain-drops 
struck  the  deck  like  bullets  of  steel;  there  was  a  sudden 
flash  of  foam  to  windward — and  the  storm  was  on !  A 
staunch  ship  struggling  with  a  storm  is  a  sublime  sight, 
and  the  "  Achilles  "  went  into  the  battle  with  the  pres 
tige  of  a  hundred  victories. 

When  the  storm  was  at  its  height,  amid  the  roar  of 
the  waters,  the  shrieks  of  the  timid  and  the  prayers  of 
the  faithful,  Zarina,  clinging  to  a  pillar  of  the  great 
cabin,  was  pale  but  calm. 

Legrand,  white  and  terror-stricken,  approached  her, 
and  she  turned  upon  him  with  a  sneer. 

"  Monsieur  Legrand,  them  flower  of  chivalry  and  soul 
of  daring!  how  fares  it  with  thee?  Mon  Dieu!  the 
man  is  no  longer  a  man — he  is  a  rag!  A  woman  does 
not  love  a  rag,  monsieur,  and  yet  you  ask  my  love! 
Come,  it  is  too  bad  of  you  to  abandon  your  beloved  to 
the  tender  mercies  of  a  post  !" 

"Have  done,  mademoiselle;  it  is  not  the  storm  I  fear, 
but  the  prayers  of  yon  gray-haired  woman.  Pardieu! 
a  man  has  lived  too  long  who  has  lived  to  be  afraid  of 
his  grandmother  !" 

"  Pardon,  monsieur,  but  it  seems  that  you  are  not  a 
saint  since  you  tremble  at  the  spectacle  of  an  old  woman 
in  prayer  !" 

"  Ah,  wicked  mademoiselle,  the  saints  are  a  long 
while  dead  !" 

u  Ha,  ha,  ha  !    the  sword  of  my  preux  chevalier  is 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  39 

broken,  yet  he  will  not  fly  to  the  consolations  of  the 
Church  !" 

The  storm  came  on  with  redoubled  fury,  and  the  ves* 
sel  seemed  to  be  breaking  up  beneath  their  feet.  The 
last  remaining  fibre  of  courage  in  the  bosom  of  Legrand 
gave  way  under  the  additional  shock,  and  he  fell  upon 
his  knees  with  a  shriek  of  prayer — in  which  it  could  be 
made  out  that  he  renounced  all  his  impious  schemes  and 
vowed  the  remainder  of  his  life  to  religion. 

Amid  all  this  scene  of  terror,  there  rang  out  an  ap 
palling  sound.  The  reckless  dancer,  with  a  flush  of 
fury  on  her  cheek,  was  clinging  like  a  serpent  to  the 
painted  post,  and  fairly  screaming  with  demoniac  laugh 
ter  at  the  pitiable  sight  the  man  presented.  It  was 
horrible  ! 

"  Hush,  Zarina,  we  are  lost !"  moaned  the  man. 

"  Lost !  you  fool  !  Nay,  not  so.  You  will  live  to 
retire  to  your  nunnery,  and  I  to  quaff  the  cup  of  pleas 
ure.  Look  !  the  ship  is  righting  now,  and  the  fury  of 
the  storm  is  spent !" 

It  was  so.  The  vessel  shook  herself  free,  and  soon 
there  was  an  appreciable  falling  of  the  tempest. 

"  Zarina,  my  peerless  beauty,"  said  Legrand,  rising 
awkwardly  from  his  knees,  "do  you,  then,  have  no  fear 
of  death  ?" 

"  Do  I  fear  to  fall  asleep  ?  Really,  monsieur,  you 
must  know  that  I  believe  in  the  irrevocable  fates,  and 
that  the  leading  tenet  of  my  creed  is  contained  in  the 
command  to  our  happy  ancestors  in  the  Garden  :  "  Pluck, 
and  eat  !" 

"  It  was  the  praying  of  the  old  lady  that  unmanned 


4-O  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

me.  I  remembered  that  my  mother  knelt  thus  and 
prayed  for  me  at  the  time  she  died;  and  then  when  one, 
you  know — ah,  none  of  us  are  pure  !" 

"And  my  mother  died,  gnawing  her  arm  for  very 
hunger,  and  begging  the  deaf  Heaven  piteously  for 
food.  Bah,  there  is  no  God  !"  said  Zarina,  with  sombre 
energy. 

"You  are  right,"  said  Legrand,  becoming  more  as 
sured,  "there  is  no  God,  and  the  devil  is  a  dream  !" 

"  And  fright  a  delusion,"  continued  the  reckless  girl, 
with  an  intolerable  sneer.  "  Beware,  bold  philosopher, 
we  are  yet  on  the  open  sea  !" 

But  Legrand  replied,  with  a  visible  effort  to  change 
the  subject,  "  The  sea  is  very  rough  yet,  but  the.  wind  is 
in  our  favor,  and  we  are  driving  along  at  a  fearful  rate. 
The  captain  thinks  we  shall  reach  New  York  the  day 
after  to-morrow.  It  is  time  that  we  sought  repose  from 
our  fright  in  sleep." 

"  Our  fright  !  ha,  ha  !  Good-night,  monsieur;  soften 
your  pillow  with  prayer  !" 

Thus,  danger  has  its  ludicrous  side;  and  it  is  remark 
able  how  soon  the  average  man  or  woman  will  forget 
a  deadly  terror,  and  begin  to  flaunt  their  silly  imper 
tinences  in  the  face  of  Deity.  It  requires  all  the  mighty 
battle-fields  of  history  to  convince  us  that  man  is  ever 
heroic. 

Thenceforward  the  ship  flew  rapidly  along,  and  in 
due  time  touched  the  busy  piers  of  the  great  metropolis 
of  the  New  World. 

M.  Legrand,  fiercer  than  ever,  when  he  found  his 
feet  on  solid  ground,  procured  a  cab  and  conducted  the 


WHAT  CAME  OF  IT.  ^.t 

fair  Zarina  to  an  elegant  hotel,  whither  the  remaining 
members  of  the  ballet  troupe  soon  followed,  with  the 
desire  of  being  near  their  friend,  whom  they  had  begun 
to  suspect  of  treason  to  the  management. 

These  fears  were  well  grounded,  for  Legrand  had 
completely  won  Zarina  over  to  his  schemes,  and  the 
twain  were  made  one,  according  to  the  rites  of  the  Holy 
Church,  in  the  course  of  the  week.  The  bridal  tour 
comprehended  Quebec,  Canada,  as  the  terminal  point; 
and  upon  reaching  that  city,  Legrand  left  his  wife  in 
handsome  quarters,  and  proceeded  alone  to  Montreal. 
He  had  visited  Clifford's  mother  on  the  occasion  of  his 
former  visit  to  America,  and  had  been  shown  the  letter 
which  the  maddened  son  had  written  his  mother  when 
the  child  was  left  to  her  care.  That  was  the  last  trace 
of  the  wanderer  discovered  up  to  this  time.  The  where 
abouts  of  the  daughter,  however,  had  never  been  made 
known  to  him,  that  portion  of  the  letter  having  been 
studiously  withheld. 


CHAPTER  V. 

the  rugged  northland,  on  a  winter's  evening, 
the  ruddy  glow  of  a  generous  fire  falling 
through  an  unveiled  window  upon  the  snowy 
scene  without,  is  always  a  thing  of  beauty  and 
a  joy  forever  to  the  belated  traveler,  and  so  thought 
Monsieur  Legrand,  as,  muffled  in  coat  and  furs,  he 
alighted  from  his  sleigh  at  the  door  of  the  parsonage 
occupied  by  our  old  friend,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Hoberg.  The 
wanderer  was  always  welcome  in  that  genial  home,  and 
in  the  course  of  half  an  hour,  the  Frenchman,  who 
could  be  amiable  enough  when  he  liked,  was  basking  in 
the  rose-light  of  the  crackling  hearth  and  ingratiating 
himself  with  the  good  pastor  by  his  easy,  yet  deferent, 
manner  and  rippling  flow  of  talk.  From  the  domestic 
adytum  of  the  establishment  there  was,  occasionally, 
borne  a  faint  odor  of  relishablfi  viands,  and  the  instincts 
of  the  gentlemanly  traveler,  sharpened  by  his  bracing 
ride,  informed  him  that  there  was  about  to  be  business 
in  hand,  which,  however  insignificant  it  may  appear, 
when  we  survey  life  with  particular  reference  to  the 
Marathons  and  Pharsalias  that  dot  its  varied  expanse,  is 
not  to  be  frustrated  without  endangering  the  mighty 
fabric  of  society. 

The  important  matter  of  refreshment  being  concluded, 
M.  Legrand,  by   a   dexterous  maneuver,  brought   the 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  43 

conversation  round  to  the  subject  of  the  Cliffords,  and 
was  delighted  to  observe  that  the  pastor  became  imme 
diately  interested,  and  entered  upon  the  story  with  a 
zest  and  candor  unclouded  by  suspicion. 

"  Did  you  have  the  good  fortune  to  know  the  dear  old 
lady,  M.  Legrand  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  that  gentleman,  "  I  was  not  fortunate 
enough  to  know  the  excellent  mother,  but  the  son  I 
have  met  in  Europe." 

"  Indeed!     Do  you  know  whether  he  is  living  yet?  " 

"Assuredly,  my  dear  sir,  he  is  living;  and  I  may  as 
well  be  frank  with  you,  who  are  the  esteemed  friend  of 
the  family,  and  say  that  my  present  visit  to  your  mag 
nificent  country  is  concerned  with  his  business." 

"Well!  well!"  ejaculated  the  pastor,  elevating  his 
gold-mounted  eye-glasses  and  gazing  at  Legrand  in  as 
tonishment,  "that  is  marvelous!" 

"  Marvelous,  but  true,  your  reverence,  and  I  only 
hope  you  will  assist  me  generously  in  clearing  up  the 
mystery  of  this  affair  and  righting  any  wrongs  that  now 
exist  and  are  not  irreparable." 

"Most  willingly,  my  dear  sir;  the  friendship  I  bore 
Mrs.  Clifford  extends  to  her  descendants,  and  you  may 
consider  me  at  your  service  to  the  full  extent  of  my 
ability  to  serve  them  in  this  important  matter." 

"Yours  is  the  language  of  a  Christian,  sir,  and  allow 
me  humbly  to  thank  you.  You  speak  of  a  casket  that 
was  left  in  your  charge  to  be  given  to  the  daughter  at 
her  marriage;  have  you  any  objection  to  my  seeing  it?" 
"  None  in  the  world.  The  casket  is  locked  and  sealed, 
and  its  contents,  I  believe,  unknown  to  any  living  per* 


44  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

son,  and  must  so  remain  until  it  is  given  into  the  hands 
of  our  darling  Echo  on  her  marriage  day,  according  to 
the  will  of  the  deceased.  Excuse  me,  and  I  will  bring 
it  from  my  study." 

The  minister  soon  returned,  bearing  in  his  hand  an 
ebony  box,  elegantly  inlaid  with  pearl,  which  was,  per 
haps,  four  inches  in  width  and  depth,  respectively,  and 
twice  as  many  long,  the  aperture  for  the  key  being 
covered  by  a  blue  seal  artistically  stamped. 

There  was  a  sinister  light  in  the  Frenchman's  eyes  as 
he  took  the  box  and  surveyed  its  workmanship  with 
curious  attention. 

"Mafoi!"  he  said  at  length,  "it  must  contain  the 
fairy  lamp  of  Aladdin!" 

"  Whatever  it  may  be,  it  is  secure  in  my  hands,  I 
hope,"  said  the  pastor  with  a  smile  of  pardonable  pride. 

"  It  is  well  said,  your  reverence;  the  casket  is  a  sacred 
trust,  and  as  such,  being  faithfully  observed,  cannot  but 
bring  peace  and  prosperity  to  your  noble  house." 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  the  mother,  Cleaveland's 
wife?"  said  the  pastor. 

"  Dead,  long  ago  dead,"  alas  ,for  the  uncertainty  of 
all  our  lives!"  replied  Legrand  with  a  pious  grimace. 

"  It  is  a  sad,  sad,  story,"  and  the  pastor  gazed  ruefully 
at  the  falling  ashes  on  the  hearth  and  bethought  him  of 
the  infinite  sorrows  of  life* 

In  the  further  conversation  that  ensued  before  the 
hour  of  retiring,  a  shrewd  observer  would  have  noted 
the  fact  that  M.  Legrand  Was  exceedingly  vague  with 
reference  to  his  particular  mission  in  the  Clifford  inten 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  45 

est,  but  the  pastor  was,  in  the  boundless  charity  of  his 
nature,  unconscious  of  the  discrepancy. 

Elaborately  polite  and  gaily  voluble  was  M.  Legrand 
the  next  morning  as  he  entered  his  sleigh  with  reitera 
ted  farewells  and  showering  compliments  for  the  pastor 
and  his  family.  So  high  and  airy  was  the  conduct  of 
that  gentleman,  in  fact,  that  one  would  naturally  expect 
to  see  his  horse  bound  away  for  the  moon  when  given 
the  rein,  but  instead  of  that  he  took  the  city  road  like 
an  animal  of  ordinary  spirit,  and  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

When,  at  the  conclusion  of  his  journey,  M.  Legrand 
burst  into  the  apartments  where  Zarina  was  patiently 
awaiting  his  return,  it  was  sufficiently  apparent  that  no 
funeral  gloom  came  with  him,  and  there  was  a  joyous 
ring  in  the  interrogatory  of  his  bride  as  she  extended 
her  arms  for  an  embrace. 

"  It  is  victorv,  my  gem  of  women,  and  you  do  well  to 
reward  me  with  a  kiss." 

"  Victory?  and,  pray,  what  does  victory  mean?" 

"  It  means  that  Monsieur  Pierre  Legrand,  being  as 
handsome  as  he  is  fortunate,  had  the  good  taste  to  marry 
an  heiress.  Ha!  ha!  I  must  really  set  up  for  a  wit." 

"  Please  use  your  wits  in  making  yourself  intelligible, 
my  dear;  why  do  you  call  me  an  heiress?" 

"For  the  reason,  my  love,  that  having  been  educated 
for  the  accomplishment  of  difficult  steps,  a  la  danseuse, 
you  are  now  enabled  to  step  into  a  great  fortune.  Ha! 
ha!  ha!  better  and  better,  as  I  live!"  and  the  room  re 
sounded  again  with  the  artless  laughter  of  M.  Legrand. 

His  wife  looked  at  him  in  astonishment,  but  quietly 
waited  for  him  to  proceed* 


46  WHAT   CAME   OF    IT. 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  he  said  at  length,  "a  fortune  of  mil 
lions  awaits  you  in  France,  and  by  these  signs  are  we 
to  conquer."  He  opened  the  mysterious  casket,  the  seal 
of  which  had  already  been  broken,  and  from  its  bed  of 
velvet  held  up  to  her  gaze  a  gold  chain  and  locket  of 
beautiful  workmanship  and  of  great  value.  Touching 
the  spring  of  the  locket  it  opened  and  disclosed  the  pho 
tograph  of  a  lady  unknown  to  Zarina.  It  was  the  pho 
tograph  of  Echo's  mother,  taken  in  her  youth. 

"It  was  careless  of  you,  Zarina  mine,  extremely  rep 
rehensible  in  you  to  leave  a  precious  heirloom  like  this 
drifting  round  the  world." 

"What  interest  is  the  handsome  necklace  to  me?" 

"Listen  to  me,  Zarina;  this  necklace  will  identify 
you  as  the  daughter  of  the  rich  lady  whose  photograph 
the  locket  contains.  The  daughter  was  lost;  the  heart 
broken  mother  engages  the  services  of  a  wise  and  hand 
some  man  by  the  name  of  Legrand  and  sends  him  to 
America  in  search  of  the  missing  one;  Legrand  returns 
with  the  daughter,  identified  by  the  charming  ornament 
worn  when  she  was  taken  away,  and  there  is  your  ro 
mance,  wife  of  my  heart!  and  your  golden  millions." 

"Ah,  I  see!"  said  Zarina,  and  she  looked  at  her  hus 
band  with  something  like  respect  for  the  deepness  of 
his  trickery  and  the  artistic  finish  of  the  villainous  plot 
he  had  disclosed. 

"  But  you  must  pirouette  through  the  boarding 
schools,  Zarina;  the  daughter  of  the  Cliffords  must 
have  culture  and  refinement." 

"  I  am  not  unequal  to  what  will  be  required  of  me, 
I  think,  Pierre.  I  have  some  skill  in  acting,  and  as  for 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  4^ 

the  rest,  an  intelligence  naturally  keen  and  polished  in 
the  obdurate  mills  of  necessity,  will  doubtless  serve  me 
well." 

"  Ah,  Pierre,"  continued  Zarina,  after  a  short  pause, 
"  you  are  as  wicked  as  you  are  delightful." 

"You  are  right,  Zarina]  Pierre  Legrand  and  his  na 
tive  innocence  parted  company  so  long  ag@  that  their 
association  can  scarcely  be  remembered.  A  man  must 
live  in  the  world,  even  though  he  disgrace  the  memory 
of  his  mother.  Alas!  had  she  lived,  and  the  world  gone 
more  smoothly  with  me,  while  I  might  have  wandered 
with  the  waywardness  of  youth,  yet,  like  the  prodigal 
son,  I  should  have  returned  long  before  this  and  become 
a  pillar  of  reform." 

"  And  then,  were  I  the  mother,  in  that  event  the 
fatted  calf  should  live  and  the  prodigal  be  led  to  the 
shambles.  The  prodigal  son  came  home  only  because 
he  had  no  other  place  to  go,  and  I  do  not  wonder  that 
his  good  brothers  grumbled  at  the  distinction  shown  the 
vagabond." 

"  Yet,  my  beautiful  logician,  you  seem  willing  to 
enjoy  the  fruits  of  my  wickedness,  if  such  a  name  can 
be  applied  to  the  triumphs  of  diplomacy,  and  should, 
therefore,  pitch  your  moral  song  a  little  lower." 

"  Indeed  I  willingly  share  these  prospects  with  you. 
The  test  of  a  life  is  success,  and  I  am  not  one  of  those 
who  will  waste  breath  in  laying  up  the  treasures  in 
Heaven." 

"You  will  not  fail  me,  then?" 

"  If  I  do,  may  the  fiery  demon  of  the  Book  receive 
me!"  said  the  young  woman  with  energy. 


48  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

"Ha!  ha!  The  evil  one  has  the  patience  of  immor- 
talitj',  my  dear;  he  will  wait  for  you." 

"  In  the  meantime  we  had  better  order  some  refresh 
ments.  The  discovery  of  your  wickedness  has  not  de 
stroyed  my  relish  for  the  good  things  of  the  world." 

Food  and  wine  were  soon  before  them,  and  Legrand, 
lifting  his  glass,  brimming  with  Bordeaux,  gaily  cried — 
"  I  drink  to  my  successor." 

"Your  successor?" 

"Aye,  the  Lucifer  of  the  great  Englishman's  poem." 

"  Ah,  it  is  well  that  you  drink  to  him  now,  for  a  time 
will  come  when  he  will  play  the  host  for  you,  and  they 
say  he  is  frugal  of  his  wine." 

"  Zarina,  you  nobly  sustain  your  sex — the  last  word  is 
yours." 

"Nay,  not  so;  for  it  has  been  intimated  that  the  devil 
shall  take  the  hindmost." 

"  Ha!  ha!  good,  upon  the  faith  of  a  gentleman!" 


CHAPTER    VI. 

o^J^^DMOND  Ainsley  was  at  home  again,  and  his 
^  gentle  mother  was  in  a  flutter  of  enjoyment. 
The  weak-fibred  lady  was  in  this  one  thing 
"V  thoroughly  in  earnest:  she  was  devoted  to  her 
son.  The  young  man  had  grown  in  a  het-bed  of  lux 
urious  affection,  and  his  character  was  the  natural  pro 
duct  of  the  gushing  order  of  agriculture — too  fragile 
in  its  cellular  development  for  the  winds  that  sometimes 
blow  roughly  on  human  harvests.  To  be  candid  with 
the  subject,  it  may  as  well  be  admitted  that  Mr.  Edmond 
Ainsley,  of  Ainsley  Hill,  was  an  ethereal  snob.  The 
fantastic  legend,  "Vive  la  bagatelle!"  was  indelibly 
graven  on  the  fret-work,  so  to  speak,  of  his  facial  angle. 
He  was  an  authority  in  the  mysteries  of  the  toilet,  and 
a  glass  of  fashion  to  the  circle  in  which  he  moved.  He 
knew  a  little  about  horses  and  dogs,  was  a  mild  sports 
man,  and  found  books  "  a  deuced  bore."  He  not  only 
got  himself  up  well,  with  the  aid  of  his  tailor  and  a 
purse  infinitely  deeper  than  his  intellect,  but,  to  give 
some  one  we  know  his  due,  he  was  actually  handsome. 
He  was  of  medium  stature,  nicely  proportioned,  with  a 
small,  shapely  head,  crisp  brown  hair,  low,  white  fore 
head,  regular  features,  perfect  teeth,  and  wore  a  droop 
ing  brown  mustache.  With  these  attractions  Edmond 
had  been  fatal  even  among  the  Amazons,  and  it  is  not} 


50  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

therefore,  a  matter  of  wonder  that  among*  the  plastic 
beauties  of  the  period  he  was  a  perfect  simoom  of  de 
struction. 

At  fashionable  parties  this  king  of  hearts  was  a  high 
card — indeed  it  was  the  opinion  of  many  that  the  fussy 
little  game,  merely  for  amusement,  you  know,  which 
we  call  "society,"  could  not  go  on  without  him.  Fur 
thermore,  it  may  be  safely  hinted  that  a  large  number 
of  estimable  young  men  in  his  set,  outwardly  decorous, 
and  supposed  to  be  of  a  religious  turn  of  mind,  would 
nevertheless  have  given  freely  of  their  substance  in 
order  to  discover,  by  experiment,  what  kind  of  orna 
mental  leather  the  hide  of  the  said  Edmond  would 
make  when  properly  prepared  according  to  the  pro 
cesses  of  the  tanner's  art.  But  that  is  neither  here  nor 
there. 

The  instincts  of  a  pure  woman,  when  unimpaired  by 
false  associations,  are  nearly  always  correct.  Therefore, 
even  to  the  inexperienced  heart  of  Echo,  the  elaborate 
effort  of  the  redoubtable  Edmond  to  subjugate  her  af 
fections  to  his  control  were  promptly  discernible,  and 
the  studied  graces  of  the  beau-ideal  were  wasted  on 
desert  air.  Sometimes  these  high-flyers  are  captivated 
by  the  irrepressible  beauty  of  their  mother's  governess, 
but  the  motives  of  their  assiduous  attentions  oftener  lie 
in  a  coarser  substratum  than  sincere  regard. 

Many  women  are  so  hopelessly  weak!  They  are 
swept  away  in  the  lawless  current  of  man's  desire  with 
out  a  struggle,  or,  self-impelled,  drift  upon  the  rock- 
bound  coasts  of  dishonor.  Perhaps  the  fault  is  in  the 
grain,  perhaps  is  attributable  to  some  fatal  effect  in  our 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  51 

social  varnish ;  at  all  events  it  zV,  and  all  the  ways  of  life 
are  strewn  with  wrecks  that  breathe  miasma  on  the  air. 
The  soul  of  a  strong  woman  is  wrung  with  unutterable 
anguish  at  the  recognition  of  these  things,  and  she  be 
comes  austere,  hateful,  perhaps,  in  her  contempt  and 
loathing  of  feminine  frailties. 

A  young  woman's  protecting  aagis  is  the  love  of  a 
true,  strong  man.  The  sentiment  yclept  the  tender,  is, 
in  its  virtuous  growth  and  maturity,  the  crowning  glory 
of  our  sex;  perverted,  the  whole  woman  falls  with  the 
crash  of  its  ruin.  The  social  wrongs  that  sin  against 
the  strength  of  youth  are  indeed  cursed,  as  Tennyson 
sings.  Love  may  be  stifled  in  the  heart,  but  the  soil  in 
which  it  grew  is  blasted  forever. 

Well,  what  of  it  ?  Only  this,  that  the  spectacle  of  a 
happy  love-match  is  lovelier  than  the  landscapes  of 
Claude  and  the  marbles  of  Greece.  Thank  God  it  is 
not  altogether  rare,  but  it  is  not  common  enough  to  be 
contemptible;  and  then  climatic  influences  are  so  fruitful 
of  blight  ! 

Echo  and  Arthur  loved  each  other  wisely  and  well. 
Each,  as  to  the  other,  was  enveloped  in  the  rose-hues  of 
a  romantic  apotheosis,  but  it  is  not  absolutely  clear  that 
this  sublimating  tendency  of  young  hearts  is  much  of  an 
evil,  after  all.  To  a  mere  spectator  a  lover  is  simply  a 
clumsy  clod,  subdued  by  a  soft,  tail-wagging  puppyism, 
but  the  fault  is  in  the  prosaic,  unleavened  wretch  who 
surveys  the  sufferer  from  telescopic  distances.  What 
food  lovers  flourish  upon,  what  language  they  speak, 
and  what  golden  arches  bend  above  them  always,  it  is 
no  business  of  the  uninitiated,  unvolatilized  pagan  to  in- 


52  WHAT   CAME   OF    IT. 

quire  and  know.  The  lover's  world  is  not  our  world, 
and  it  is  well  that  a  purple  mysticism  glorifies  them 
forever. 

Arthur  and  Echo  were  everything  to  each  other,  and 
it  follows  that  the  young  lady  had  neither  eyes  nor  ears 
for  gilt-edged  Edmond  Ainsley. 

About  three  months  after  the  return  of  Edmond 
Ainsley  to  the  home  of  his  mother,  at  the  close  of  a 
lovely  spring  day,  Echo  was  seated  in  an  easy  chair  be 
fore  the  window;  one  soft  white  hand  lay  upon  the 
book  from  which  she  had  been  reading,  and  the  other, 
upon  which  the  engagement-ring  sparkled,  toyed  with 
the  tassel  of  her  chair.  Her  dainty  feet  tapped  the  rich 
carpet  thoughtfully,  as  she  sat,  and  the  ruddy  glow  from 
the  grate  glorified  her  golden  hair  and  pure  com 
plexion,  the  effect  of  the  picture  being  grandly  height 
ened  by  the  crimson  velvet  linings  of  the  deep-backed 
chair.  The  marvelous  eyes  were  gazing  through  the 
window  upon  the  western  sky,  suffused  with  the  last 
glow  of  day.  A  few  clouds,  like  golden  brackets, 
framed  the  sapphire  spaces  of  heaven,  and  the  light  that 
lingered  upon  the  world  was  as  soft  and  tender  as  the 
last  kiss  of  a  parting  lover.  Her  thoughts  had  that 
touch  of  ineffable  melancholy  which  belongs  to  such  a 
scene — 

"Which  resembles  sorrow  only 
As  the  mist  resembles  the  rain." 

* 

The  clear  eyes  mirrowed  the  matchless  shadows  that 
moved  upon  the  fading  horizon,  and  her  soul  was  float 
ing  far  in  a  glowing  argosy  of  dreams,  when  suddenly 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  53 

a  shade  fell  upon  her  face  and  a  warm  kiss  electrified 
her  lips. 

"  Arthur  !     How  you  frightened  me  !" 

"  The  opportunity  for  a  surprise  was  too  tempting, 
love;  I  hope  you  are  glad  to  see  me  ?" 

"  Assuredly ;  but  large  bodies  should  not  move 
through  space  without  some  attendant  satellite  as  an 
avant  courier." 

"  A  dog,  for  instance  ?" 

"Yes,  or  even  a  wide  nimbus  of  musk,  like  one  I 
could  mention  !" 

"  By  the  way,  Echo,  is   Edmond   Ainsley  at  home?" 

"He  arrived  a  fortnight  ago,  and,"  with  a  merry 
twinkle  of  the  eye,  "  has  doubtless  inscribed  upon  his 
banner  —  all  young  gentlemen  carry  banners  since  Mr. 
Longfellow's  '  Excelsior'  came  to  fame  —  the  Caesarean 
boast,  vcni)  vidi\  vici" 

"Alas!  am  I  then  to  grace  his  triumph?" 

"  Well,  the  court  takes  that  question  under  advise 
ment;  and,  in  the  meanwhile,  you  may  consider  your 
self  on  your  good  behavior." 

"  Is  this  Ainsley,  (this  Ainsley !)  entirely  irresistible  ?" 

"  The  Apollo  Belvidere,  appareled  under  the  direc 
tion  of  the  immortal  Worth,  could  not  be  more  so." 

"  Then  I  must  really  get  a  dog." 

"Ah!  and  why?" 

"  To  keep  the  young  ladies  from  devouring  this  de 
lightful  creature;  I  shall  interfere  in  the  interest  of  hu 
manity." 

"  Hedge  him  about  with  the  odor  of  some  of  your 


54  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

detestable  drugs,  Arthur  —  that  were  a  safer  and  surer 
plan." 

Now  the  reader  will  hardly  believe  such  a  thing  pos 
sible,  but  it  is  nevertheless  true,  that  the  young  lady 
had  not  once  looked  up  during  this  dialogue  until  the 
gentleman  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter  at  the  conclu 
sion  of  the  last  remark,  and  then  she  sprang  up  with  a 
smothered  shriek  and  a  face  of  flame. 

"Mr.  Ainsley!  villain  !  how  dare  you  insult  me!" 

The  young  man  shrank  for  a  moment  before  the  tow 
ering  indignation  of  the  young  governess,  but  partially 
recovered,  and  stammering  out:  "  Forgive  me,  Echo  — 
the  sight  of  your  wonderful  beauty  lured  me  irresistibly 
into  difficulty.  I  love  you,  darling,"  and  he  moved  for 
ward  as  if  to  take  her  hand. 

"Back!  at  your  peril!  There  are  those  who  will 
avenge  this  insolence!"  and  hot  tears  of  rage  and  shame 
were  coursing  down  the  fair  girl's  cheek. 

There  was  a  pause  of  a  moment,  which  was  broken 
by  Mrs.  Ainsley  who,  wakening  from  her  afternoon 
siesta,  called  — 

"  Echo,  will  you  please  ring  for  lights?  Why,  Ed- 
mond,  you  here?"  for  the  young  man,  glad  enough  to 
escape  the  tempest  he  had  aroused,  had  hastened  to  her 
side  at  the  first  movement  and  greeted  her  with  a  filial 
kiss. 

"  Where  should  I  be,  mother,  but  watching  over  the 
slumbers  of  those  I  love?" 

The  grateful,  loving  look  which  she  gave  him  for 
this  little  speech  expressed  affection  enough  to  fit  out  a 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  55 

paradise,  with  all  the  modern  improvements.     Mother- 
love  is  the  saddest,  sweetest  thing  in  nature. 

In  all  ages  the  existence  of  a  Deity  has  been  doubted ; 
while  Love,  the  attribute  and  essence  of  God,  sits  on  an 
unshaken  throne. 

Love  rules  the  court,  the  camp,  the  grove 
For  love  is  Heaven,  and  Heaven  is  love! 

Echo  ordered  the  lights  as  requested,  and  retired  to 
her  own  chamber. »  There,  agonizing  under  the  insult 
to  which  she  had  just  been  subjected,  the  desolation  of 
orphanage  came  upon  her  as  never  before,  and  she 
threw  herself  upon  the  bed  and  wept  bitterly. 

"  Why,"  the  poor  girl  murmured,  "  am  I  to  suffer 
this  cruel  wrong?  It  is  thus  that  the  poor  and  weak 
are  ever  trampled  upon  in  this  world.  That  young 
man  cannot  understand  that  he  has  clone  me  an  injury; 
his  education  tends  to  such  outrages,  and  the  light 
headed  wretch  is  scarcely  to  blame.  In  his  eyes  I  am  ., 
simply  a  chattel — a  part  of  the  paraphernalia  of  his  lux 
urious  home  and  a  legitimate  victim  for  his  pampered 
wickedness.  The  young  lady  who  formerly  acted  as 
companion  to  his  mother  was  ruined  by  him;  she  hid 
her  shame -in  the  dark-flowing  river,  and  he  —  curled 
darling  of  his  mother!  —  traveled  in  Europe  for  his 
health!  How  can  I  endure  to  remain  here  any  longer  ? 
If  I  disclose  what  has  happened  to  Mrs.  Ainsley  she 
will  dismiss  me  in  disgrace,  and  what  am  I  to  do  ? 
May  the  Lord  help  me  in  this  heavy  trial!" 

When  the  paroxysm  of  her  grief  had  subsided,  Echo 
rose  and  bathed  her  swollen  eyes  and  hot  temples,  for 


56  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

she  was  expecting  a  visit  from  her  affianced  that  even 
ing  and  wished  to  appear  before  him  naturally. 

That  gentleman,  bona  fide,  this  time,  was  soon  an 
nounced,  and  Echo,  hastening  down  to  the  drawing- 
room,  greeted  her  lover  graciously. 

"  I  believe  that  I  have  a  surprise  for  you,  Arthur," 
she  said;  "your  sister  Mary  is  to  be  married  on  Christ 
mas  day." 

"  That  is  news  to  me,  surely,  but  young  people  are 
committing  that  kind  of  foolishness  every  day  now," 
and  he  pressed  her  hand  as  though  there  were  some 
sort  of  comfort  in  that  condition  of  things.  Then  there 
was  a  delicious  pause  of  a  few  seconds,  the  young  lady 
not  knowing  how  to  controvert  this  dangerous  position 
with  reference  to  the  prevailing  idiosyncracics  of  young 
people. 

"  Come,  dear,"  he  said,  "  let  us  talk  business.  Do  you 
know  that  I  have  been  negotiating  for  the  little  cottage 
you  fell  in  love  with  during  our  ramble  the  other  day? 
I  shall  close  the  bargain,  with  your  approval,  to-morrow 
by  paying  one-third  of  the  purchase  money  in  hand,  the 
remainder  when  we  take  possession." 

"  That  dear  little  cottage!  Oh,  I  am  delighted!  But 
you  must  let  me  furnish  it.  You  know  tr;at  I  have  a 
few  hundred  dollars  from  the  sale  of  grandmother's  ef 
fects,  which,  with  the  addition  of  what  I  have  saved 
from  my  salary,  will  be  sufficient  to  fit  our  home  nicely. 
I  shall  make  Mary  a  present  on  the  great  occasion,  and 
will  need  something  for  my  own  modest  trousseau,  but 
there  will  be  enough  left  for  the  furniture  of  the 
Cottage," 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 


57 


"  Verily,  Echo,  you  would  make  a  talented  minister 
of  finance,"  he  rejoined,  playfully,  "  but  this  sacrifice 
must  not  be  made;  it  must  be  my  pleasant  privilege  to 
furnish  a  home  for  you." 

"  Shall  I  contribute  nothing,  then?"  she  said  sorrow 
fully. 

"Nothing,  indeed!  Why,  Echo,  you  contribute  ev 
erything  in  contributing  your  delightful  self.  You  are 
the  priceless  gem  for  which  I,  in  my  poverty,  can  only 
provide  a  paltry  setting." 

But  the  conversation  is  getting  wild,  and  we  will  ring 
down  the  curtain  and  dismiss  our  characters  to  the  happy 
realms  of  sleep. 

It  was  midnight;  dark,  drear,  silent  as  the  tomb  of 
elder  chaos.  The  sky  was  heavily  obscured  in  clouds, 
and  a  cold  wind  was  blowing  in  fitful  gusts.  Suddenly 
the  black,  breathless  pause  of  the  night  was  broken  by 
a  hideous  clamor.  Fire!  fire!  fire!  boom!  boom! 
boom!  Bells  and  voices  were  proclaiming  the  reel  ap 
parition  of  an  enraged  element. 

"  Good  God!"  cried  a  man  in  the  street  —  "  it  is  the 
Ainsley  mansion!" 

A  hundred  men  rushed  up  the  broad  flight  of  front 
steps  and  thundered  at  the  knocker.  There  was  a  sud 
den,  inarticulate  cry  of  alarm  from  the  people  in  the 
street  whose  gaze  was  riveted  on  the  stately  dwelling. 
It  was  caused  by  the  bursting  of  a  black  volume  of 
smoke,  mixed  with  bloody  tongues  of  flame,  from  the 
roof. 

The  crowd  was  still  hammering  at  the  heavy  walnut 


doors,  and  the  confusion  md  alarm  were  becoming  tor 
3 


58  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.    I 

rible,  when  the  mighty  portals  were  flung  back,  and 
Edmond  Ainsley,  half  stifled  with  the  smoke  which 
already  filled  the  lower  rooms,  rushed  out. 

"  A  thousand  dollars  for  the  rescue  of  my  mother  and 
the  governess!"  he  shouted  wildly. 

A  hundred  resolute  men  sprang  forward,  but  they 
were  beaten  back  by  the  hot  smoke  that  rushed  down 
the  great  stairway. 

Some  of  the  upper  windows  shivered,  with  a  terrific 
crash,  and  the  pent-up  demon  leaped  forth  in  smoke 
and  flame. 

In  apartments  remote  from  the  uproar  of  the  street, 
Echo  was  suddenly  roused  by  the  bursting  of  the  glass 
in  one  of  the  windows,  caused  by  a  stone  some  one  had 
hurled  from  below,  and  leaped  forth  to  see  the  clouds 
ruddy  with  reflected  flame.  For  an  instant  she  was  stu 
pefied  with  fear,  for  the  roar  of  the  people  below  was 
awful  to  hear.  She  came  of  a  mettled  race,  however, 
and  s6on  recovered,  when  she  hastily  clonnefl  a  wrapper 
and  opened  the  door  leading  into  the  hall.  A  stifling 
smoke  rushed  in,  and  the  door  was  closed.  Then,  seiz 
ing  a  blanket  from  the  bed,  and  stooping  low  to  take 
advantage  of  the  purer  air  near  the  floor,  she  rushed  into 
the  hall.  Thus  shielded  by  the  blanket,  she  was  male- 
ing  for  the  stairway,  when  Edmond  flew  past  her.  At 
the  same  instant  she  heard  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Ainsley, 
elevated  to  a  shriek  that  chilled  one's  blood  — 

"Help!  help!  Arnold!  Arnold!  my  son!   Good  God  1 
do  not  leave  your  mother  in  the  flames !" 

Echo  tunned,  and  with  difficulty  made  her  way  back 
to   the  apartment  whence  the  fearful  cry   proceeded. 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  59 

She  found  the  poor  woman  on  her  knees  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  paralyzed  with  terror.  She  sank  forward 
insensible  as  the  brave  girl  approached;  and  just  then 
a  man,  blackened  and  singed  by  the  flames  through 
which  he  had  passed,  rushed  into  the  room  with  a  rope 
in  his  hand.  He  paused  an  instant  as  if  to  recognize  the 
woman  he  had  come  to  save,  and  then  without  a  word, 
passed  a  noose  under  the  arms  of  the  young  lady  and 
lifted  her  tenderly  and  swiftly  through  the  window  — 
and  she  was  lowered  to  the  ground  amid  cheers  that 
rent  the  air.  Then  followed  the  other  lady,  and  lastly, 
the  man  himself,  his  hair  on  fire,  fell,  rather  than  slid 
down  the  rope,  just  as  the  flames  leaped  through  in  wild 
pursuit. 

When  Arthur  Hoberg  recovered  from  the  swoon  into 
which  he  had  been  precipitated  by  the  concussion  of  his 
fall,  the  Ainsley  mansion  \\  as  a  heap  of  blackened  ruins, 
and  every  tongue  was  sounding  the  praise  of  the  daring 
young  physician. 

He  was  badly  burned  and  bruised,  but  a  sweet  face 
bent  over  him  when  he  looked  up  to  find  himself  in  a 
strange  room.  It  was  a  face  that  he  knew  and  loved. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ROM  the  frightful  experiences  of  the  fire,  Mrs. 
Ainsley  received  a  nervous  shock  that  com 
pletely  prostrated  her  for  a  time,  and  when  she 
had  partially  recovered,  her  physicians  recom 
mended  easy  travel  and  change  of  scene.  The  weak 
lady  now  leaned  more  than  ever  upon  the  companion 
ship  of  Echo,  as  a  shaded  plant  will  lean  towards  the 
warm  embrace  of  the  sun.  Mrs.  Ainsley  felt  that  the 
society  of  the  governess  was  indispensable  to  her;  in 
fact,  she  announced  her  intention  of  remaining  in  Que 
bec  unless  Echo  should  agree  to  accompany  her  in  the 
contemplated  round  of  travel.  To  one  of  the  young 
lady's  generous,  sympathetic  temperament,  there  was 
but  one  course.  She  would  go. 

There  was  the  prospect  of  an  early  marriage  and  the 
inestimable  pleasure  of  Arthur's  society  to  be  given  up, 
but  duty  demanded  the  sacrifice,  and  she  determined  to 
make  it. 

California,  the  far-off  golden  land,  whose  very  name 
is  redolent  of  romance,  was  fixed  upon  as  the  terminal 
point  of  their  loitering  journey,  and,  accompanied  by 
two  faithful  servants,  they  were  soon  on  the  way. 

Edmond  was  to  remain  and  supervise  the  re-building 
of  the  family  mansion.  This  last  was  an  important  con 
sideration  to  Echo, 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  6 1 

The  parting  of  the  lovers  was  affecting  in  a  high  de 
gree,  and  yet  not  utterly  devoid  of  its  humorous  points. 
When  a  young  man  is  seriously  possessed  of  the  tender 
passion,  he  is  prepared  to  be  miserable  on  all  occasions. 
But  if  you  really  wish  to  give  him  up  to  the  devouring 
torments  of  jealousy,  let  the  object  of  his  love  go  travel 
ing  without  his  protection  !  A  situation  of  that  kind 
fairly  bristles  with  possibilities  for  the  torture  of  the  in 
volved  and  irredeemable  soul. 

"  Ah,  Echo,  you  are  going  to  leave  me  ?" 

"  For  a  little  time,  Arthur,  and  I  assure  you  that  I 
shall  count  the  moments  until  the  painful  days  of  ab 
sence  are  accomplished." 

"  Yet  human  nature  is  so  fickle,  dear,  and  I  fear  there 
is  some  truth  in  that  homely  old  maxim,  '  Out  of  sight, 
out  of  mind.' " 

"Arthur!  how  can  you  say  such  cruel  things  ?"  and 
the  sweet  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"I  do  not  mean  to  pain  you,  darling,  but  you  have 
had  so  little  experience,  and  there  are  so  many  more 
charming  men  in  the  world  than  your  poor  knight, 
that  I—" 

"That  you  are  a  dear  fidgety  goosey!"  said  Echo, 
laughing  through  her  tears  delightfully,  and  dropping 
the  warm  shadow  of  a  kiss  on  his  bearded  lips. 

"  You  will  write  to  me  constantly,  wont  you,  Echo?" 

"  It  is  the  thought  of  writing  to  you  and  receiving 
long,  loving  letters  in  return,  that  sustains  me  in  going, 
Arthur." 

"  You  must  not  be  too  affable  with  strangers,  my  love ; 


62  WHAT   CAME    OF    IT. 

there  are  so  many  smooth  villains  traveling  that  ladies 
are  always  in  danger  of  insult." 

"  Oh,  dear,  Arthur  !  Mrs.  Ainsley  and  I  will  be  en 
veloped  in  such  an  odor  of  sal  volatile  and  other  medic 
aments  that  we  will  be  effectually  protected  from  the 
social  overtures  of  strangers,  I  think.  At  any  rate, 
"  confidence  "  people  will  make  nothing  of  us,  I  can  tell 
you.  Mrs.  Ainsley's  serving  men  are  equal  to  any 
emergency  of  that  kind." 

"  Of  all  men  in  the  world,  those  Californians  are  the 
most  impudent  with  women."  O,  miserable  young 
man  ! 

"  A  woman  is  panopolied  in  her. purity,  Arthur; — and 
feel  that  I  shall  be  safe  everywhere.  With  God's  help, 
I  know  that  I  need  not  fear." 

"  I  shall  be  very  unhappy  until  you  return." 

"Oh,  but  you  must  not  be  unhappy,  dearest;  I  shall 
continually  pray  for  you,  and  the  consciousness  of  my 
undying  love  should  be  with  you  always.  Then  you 
will  have  the  cottage  to  look  after,  you  know." 

"  That  is  true — if  I  may  venture  to  anticipate  the 
future  to  that  .extent." 

Echo  burst  into  tears  at  the  continued  gloom  of  his 
speech,  and,  so  contradictory  is  the  nature  of  a  man  in 
love,  his  manliness  immediately  returned,  and  from  that 
time  forth  he  bore  his  fate  with  heroic  fortitude  and 
charming  grace. 

Softly  folding  her  in  his  arms,  he  said:  "Forgive  me, 
loved  one  !  I  have  not  doubted  your  sincerity  for  a  mo 
ment;  but  we  do  not  always  understand  our  own  hearts. 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  63 

Let  us  be  happy,  then,  sweetheart,  and  confident  in  our 
future." 

She  lifted  her  tear-softened  glance  to  his  face,  and 
creeping  closer  to  his  side,  replied  :  "  You  think  me 
very  foolish,  no  doubt,  but  as  the  dreaded  time  of  sep 
aration  draws  near,  strange  misgivings  begin  to  shadow 
my  spirit.  My  reason  tells  me  that  we  shall  soon  be 
re-united,  and  that  all  will  be  well;  but,  somehow,  there 
is  a  sense  of  gloom  and  impending  evil  that  I  cannot 
shake  off." 

"How  foolish  I  have  been,  Echo — how  criminally 
mean  to  be  harping  away  on  a  wretched  minor  key 
about  your  journey.  I  might  have  foreseen  that  your 
gentle  bosom  would  soon  be  disturbed  by  such  idle  fore 
bodings." 

A  servant  here  announced  that  the  carriage  was  in 
waiting,  and  the  lovers,  with  one  long,  clinging,  soul 
ful  kiss,  terminated  their  interview  with  the  whispered, 
inevitable  "  Good-by  "  that  becomes  so  familiar  to  us  in 
the  sorrowful  experiences  of  life. 

Professional  engagements  detained  Arthur  in  Que 
bec,  and  this  was  therefore  their  parting.  The  overland 
journey  has  been  so  often  described  that  we  will  not 
take  more  than  a  flying  glimpse  of  the  many  wonders 
that  bewilder  and  enchant  the  traveler  in  the  mighty 
panorama  of  its  mountains  and  plains. 

There  lay  the  brown,  wide,  interminable  pampas  of 
the  buffalo  and  the  Sioux,  suggesting  ten  thousand  wild 
tales  of  border  life.  Yonder,  a  dim  wavy  line  of  blue 
along  the  horizon,  lay  the  gigantic  mountain  chains — - 
the  historic  Rockies  of  the  bold  adventurous  West. 


64  WHAT   CAME    OF    IT. 

Pulpit  Rock,  standing  alone  at  the  debouchure  of 
Echo  Canyon,  is  memorable  from  the  fact  that  Bri gharri 
Young,  the  great  leader  of  the  Mormons,  is  said  to  have 
harangued  the  faithful  from  its  summit  for  the  first  time 
in  Utah. 

"  Almost  anything  is  believed  of  Brigharn,"  said  Mrs. 
Ainsley ;  "  he  must  be  a  great  man." 

"  He  has  accomplished  wonders,  certainly,"  said  Echo; 
"  God  allows  error  to  ripen  and  fall,  and  I  predict  that 
the  time  is  not  far  distant  when  the  great  religious  so 
ciety  he  has  erected  here  in  the  desert  will  crumble  into 
ruin." 

"  Let  us  not  talk  about  ruins,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Ainsley,  fretfully;  "I  cannot  forget  that  my  own  dear 
home  is  in  ruins." 

While  the  train  was  slowly  creeping  through  Weber 
Canyon,  an  amusing  incident  occurred.  An  old  lady, 
who  was  puffing  painfully  at  the  stem  of  a  "  cob  "  pipe, 
taking  the  unsightly  object  from  her  mouth  for  a  mo 
ment,  exclaimed  : 

"  An'  what  might  that  are  be?"  pointing  to  the  object 
of  her  curiosity. 

"I  believe  that  is  called  the  'Devil's  Slide,'"  an 
swered  a  gentleman,  kindly. 

"  The  law  sakes  !  It  must  have  ben  wearin'  on  his 
trousers  !" 

There  was  a  musical  smile  among  the  passengers,  at 
this  sally,  at  which  the  old  lady  took  offense.  Turning 
her  brown,  wrinkled  visage  slowly  around  the  car,  she 
disdainfully  observed :  "  People  are  a  gittin'  mighty 
peart  these  days  !"  and  resumed  her  wheezing  cob.  Per- 


WHAT   CAME    OF    IT.  65 

haps  she  was  a  mother  of  heroes,  but  it  would  never 
theless  have  been  interesting  to  have  had  her  opinion  of 
the  Medician  Venus. 

When  the  grand  Sierras  had  been  conquered,  and  the 
westward  flying  train  swept  down  from  the  eternal  win 
ter  of  those  granite  solitudes  to  the  summer  of  the  Sac 
ramento  valle}^,  our  travelers  were  amazed  at  the  won 
drous  change.  On,  on  they  sped,  by  waving  fields  and 
flowering  orchards,  under  skies  as  soft  and  pure  as  those 
of  Italy,  and  were  soon  at  their  journey's  end. 


CHAPTER   Vlll. 

has  been  remarked,  in  tuneful  verse,  that 
hope  vegetates  eternally  in  the  human  breast. 
It  was  at  least  the  impalpable  but  sufficient 
nourishment  of  our  young  heroine  during  the 
period  of  her  separation  from  that  daring  Esculapian 
whose  name,  destined  to  be  graven  with  a  scalpel,  on 
the  heights  of  professional  fame,  she  was  fond  of  mur 
muring  to  the  breezes  and  birds. 

They  were  comfortably  settled  in  the  patrician  city 
of  Oakland,  opposite  the  mistress  of  the  Golden  Gate. 
Before  them  lay  the  beautiful  bay  of  San  Francisco, 
studded  with  brown  islands  and  stirring  with  commerce. 
Around  them  were  the  fruits  and  flowers  of  the  semi- 
tropics,  and  upon  all,  glorifying  all,  the  rich  atmosphere 
of  sunland. 

How  bleak  and  unlovely  was  their  own  northland 
when  compared  with  this  favored  region !  Yet  Echo, 
notwithstanding  her  impressible,  poetic  nature,  was 
more  observant  of  the  operations  of  the  mails  than  of 
the  vaunted  excellencies  of  Californian  life.  It  was  nat 
ural  enough;  had  she  arrived  at  Elysium,  her  first  in 
quiry  would  have  been  for  a  post-office. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Ainsley,  reclining  one 
evening  in  her  easy  chair,  holding  a  letter  she  had  just 


WHAT   CAME    OF    i.  j 

received,  in  her  jeweled  hand,"  that  my  dear  boy  thinks 
of  coming  out  to  us  immediately?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Echo,  growing  faint  with  apprehen 
sion  at  this  unexpected  piece  of  news  and  bending  lower 
over  the  "Overland"  she  was  reading,  to  hide  her  pal 
lor;  "  I  understood  that  business  would  detain  him  in 
Quebec  for  some  time." 

"  Oh,  he  has  arranged  all  that.  The  poor  boy  is 
homesick  for  '  Mamma,'  no  doubt,  and  I  shall  welcome 
him  with  a  grateful  heart." 

u  I  presume  so."  It  was  all  that  she  could  say,  her 
bosom  was  so  shaken  with  vague  alarms. 

"My  Edmond,"  Mrs.  Ainsley  closed  her  eyes  with  a 
soft  ecstacy  at  the  idea  of  proprietorship  expressed  in 
these  words,  "  has  a  well-balanced  mind  and  is  jealous 
of  the  family  dignity,  but  he  is  so  strikingly  handsome 
that  -parvenu  belles  are  always  fluttering  about  him, 
and  I  feel  safest  when  he  is  with  me.  Don't  you  think 
he  is  'like  Paris  fair,'  as  the  poets  say;  though  I  can 
not  see  why  a  city  can  be  compared  with  a  man,  my 
dear?" 

"  Aye,  '  and  like  Hector  brave,'  "  rejoined  the  gov 
erness,  her  beautiful  eyes  sparkling  with  a  merry  rem 
iniscence  of  the  fire. 

"  You  see  it  is  this  way,"  continued  Mrs.  Ainsley, 
who  was  evidently  talking  with  an  object,  "  Edmond 
must  not  make  a  misalliance;  there  is  not  only  a  possi 
bility  but  a  great  probability  of  his  coming  to  a  title,  by 
and  by;  and  besides,  our  family  has  an  aristocratic  name 
to  be  regarded  in  the  event  of  his  marriage,  which,  I  do 


68  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

hope,  may  be  happily  consummated  one  of  these  days. 
It  is  the  source  of  constant  anxiety  to  me." 

<c  I  can  well  believe  that  it  is." 

"  Edmond  has  been  so  occupied  with  the  improve 
ment  of  his  mind  and  tastes  that  I  think  he  has  been 
unconscious  of  matrimony  so  far;  at  least,  I  have  never 
heard  him  express  the  slightest  interest  in  the  matter." 

"How  would  a  Californian  heiress  suit  you?"  said 
Echo. 

"  Oh  dear;  these  Americans  are  dreadful  people  — 
but  as  there  is  no  such  thing  as  caste  here,  I  cannot  say 
that  a  rich,  beautiful  and  accomplished  American  would 
be  entirely  inadmissible." 

"  I  suppose  you  will  go  into  society  here?" 

"  Oh,  yes;  if  they  support  such  a  luxury  in  this  bar 
barous  country." 

"  It  is  said  that  Californian  heiresses  have  a  penchant 
for  pistols,  and  that  they  are  accustomed  to  surround  eli 
gible  young  Englishmen  with  revolvers  and  demand 
their  affections,  a  la  Duval." 

"^Monstrous,  Echo;  how  can  you  report  such  thin gs?" 

"Edmond  is  heroic,  however,"  pursued  the  young- 
lady,  michievously,  "  and  will  stand  fire." 

There  was  a  point  in  this  little  innuendo  which  Mrs. 
Ainsley  did  not  see. 

"Your  friend,  Hoberg,  makes  such  a  sorry  figure  be 
side  my  Crichton.  Do  you  not  think  so?" 

"  They  should  not  be  mentioned  in  the  same  breath, 
Mrs.  Ainsley."  Echo  bit  her  lips  as  she  pronounced 
this  two-sided  opinion;  but  the  other,  absorbed  in  the 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  69 

object  of  her  vanity,  did  not  realize  the  bitterness  of 
the  retort. 

"I  am  glad  you  think  so;  rather,  that  you  are  frank 
enough  to  acknowledge  the  truth,  my  dear." 

"  It  were  useless  for  any  one  to  endeavor  to  conceal 
so  evident  a  disparity." 

"Well,  we  must  not  be  hard  on  young  Hoberg;  he 
is  only  a  poor  clergyman's  son,  and  having  to  work  for 
his  living,  it  is  necessary  that  he  should  be  of  coarser 
clay  than  Edmond." 

There  is  a  good  deal  of  suppressed  cat  in  the  sweetest 
of  female  characters,  and  it  is  quite  possible  that  Mrs. 
Ainsley's  eyes  were  in  imminent  danger  at  this  juncture. 

"  I  verily  believe  that  it  was  through  the  boorish 
awkwardness  of  this  Hoberg  in  lowering  me  from  that 
dreadful  window  that  so  much  injury  was  done  to  my 
nervous  system." 

Echo  nearly  shrieked  with  indignation,  but  managed 
to  say,  with  cold  emphasis — "  Perhaps.  He  should  have 
left  that  delicate  task  to  your  son."  Still  the  miserable 
mother  could  not  see,  and  rejoined  with  indolent  admir 
ation. 

"So  he  should.  Edmond  could  have  saved  me  so 
nicely." 

"Ahem!" 

The  governess  could  not  articulate  a  word.  There 
was  a  murderous  shadow  on  her  lovely  face. 

"  Still,  it  is  a  very  good  match  for  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Ainsley,  persistently  extending  the  disagreeable  theme; 
"  and  I  shall  take  pleasure  in  making  you  a  handsome 
wedding  present*  Hoberg  is  called  a  rising  physician ; 


7O  \VHAT    CAME    OF    It. 

and  if  he  shall  make  money  enough,  I  suppose  people 
will  not  care  to  remember  that  his  grandfather  was 
probably  a  hod-carrier." 

"  It  is  immaterial  to  me  what  they  remember,  so  they 
do  not  forget  that  he  was  an  honest  man.  Let  us 
change  the  subject,  please." 

There  was  something  in  the  girl's  tone  which  im 
pressed  the  dull  wits,  of  even  Mrs.  Ainsley  with  a 
sense  of  warning,  and  the  subject  was  dropped. 

In  due  course  of  time  Mr.  Edmond  Ainsley  made  his 
appearance  upon  the  scene,  and  then  Echo's  lot  was  al 
most  intolerable.  One  of  her  most  tiresome  duties  was 
to  furnish  soothing  music  as  an  opiate  for  Mrs.  Ainsley 
whenever  that  elaborate  invalid  desired  to  sleep.  Of 
music  itself  the  young  lady  was  passionately  fond,  but 
it  became  utterly  nauseous  when  thus  administered  as 
a  medicine.  And  there  was  another  more  potent  reason 
for  disgust  with  it  —  Edmond  Ainsley  chose  these  occa 
sions  for  paying  her  his  intolerable  attentions. 

One  evening,  while  thus  engaged,  she  was  suddenly 
conscious  of  his  presence,  although  he  had  come  up 
stealthily.  Bending  over  her  so  that  his  hot  breath  ac 
tually  scorched  her  cheek,  he  whispered  — 

"  Dear  Echo,  have  you  determined  to  kill  me  with 
your  cruel  indifference?" 

The  white  fingers  swept  the  ivory  keys  evenly  —  not 
a  muscle  of  the  mobile  face  moved.  There  was  no 
indication  that  the  player  was  even  conscious  of  his 
presence. 

"  Will  you  not  hear  me?  I  have  been  devoted  to  you 
from  the  first;  in  the  blaze  of  your  transcendent  beauty 


WHAT    CAMfc   OF   IT*  71 

I  wander  like  an  enslaved  satellite.  Everything  that  I 
have  and  am  I  willingly  lay  at  your  feet.  Is  not  such 
love  worthy  your  acceptance?" 

Still  not  a  note  was  dropped,  and  not  the  quiver  of 
an  eyelash  betrayed  her  excitement.  Her  unspeakable 
repugnance  to  the  man  rendered  her  impervious  to  his 
influence. 

And  yet  the  perfumed  rake  was  unabashed — in  truth, 
he  seemed  to  take  courage  from  her  silence,  and  con 
tinued,  while  the  touch  of  his  hand  on  her  shoulder 
chilled  her  blood : 

"Do  you  consent  —  will  you  be  mine?  The  preju 
dices  of  my  mother  can  be  circumvented  by  a  secret 
marriage;  and,  the  happy  knot  once  tied,  she  will  read 
ily  receive  you  as  her  daughter.  Oh,  dearest  Echo,  tell 
me  that  you  accede  —  that  you  will  bless  me  with  your 
love!" 

Still  the  tender  melody  flowed  on  through  dreamy 
mazes,  and  the  dozing  invalid  in  the  adjacent  chamber 
harbored  no  suspicion  of  the  little  drama  that  was  en 
acting  so  near  her,  else  the  rippling  notes  of  the  piano 
had  roused  her  like  a  thunder-crash. 

"  Speak,  my  darling;  will  you  marry  me?" 

The  young  lady's  touch  became  softer,  and  the  music 
fell  into  a  whispering  echo  as  she  spoke  for  the  first 
time,  her  voice  cold  and  cutting  as  the  north  wind  — • 

"Have  you  done>  sir?" 

"  I  am  waiting  your  answer,  beloved." 

"  Then  have  it;  had  I  not  known  you  to  be  a  miser 
able  reptile  before,  the  vile  scheme  you  have  hissed  in 
my  ear  would  have  betrayed  your  slimy,  sneaking  na 


72  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

ture.  I  could  sooner  love  the  mangiest  cur  in  the  streets 
than  such  as  you!  We  understand  each  other  now;  let 
this  be  the  end. 

The  young  man  trembled  with  passion,  and  his  face 
became  purple  as  he  hissed  through  his  clenched  teeth, 
"No,  by  the  eternal,  you  flaunting  beggar!  yo'u  shall 
rue  this!"  and  he  hurriedly  strode  from  the  room. 

As  often  as  the  opportunities  of  the  mail  served,  Echo 
was  made  happy  by  the  receipt  of  letters  from  Arthur, 
supplemented,  occasionally,  by  less  enthusiastic  commu 
nications  from  his  sister,  Mary. 

Then  an  alarming  circumstance  in  connection  with 
this  correspondence  appeared.  Contrary  to  all  prece 
dent,  in  such  cases,  the  letters  of  the  young  physician 
began  to  grow  colder  and  more  concise.  A  clue  to  the 
mystery  was  not  wanting  long.  A  troubled  letter  from 
Mary  explained  that  Arthur  had  become  insanely  infat 
uated  with  a  young  lady,  a  niece  of  one  Dr.  Combes, 
who  had  just  arrived  from  England.  The  sympathizing 
girl  wrote  that  her  father  was  stricken  with  grief  at  this 
turn  of  affairs,  and  it  was  their  hope  and  prayer  that  the 
erring  son  and  brother  would  yet  regain  his  reason  and 
fulfill  his  engagement  with  their  darling  Echo,  than 
whom  none  better  or  more  beautiful  ever  lived. 

We  will  not  attempt  to  analyze  the  suffering  of  the 
governess  on  the  receipt  of  this  intelligence.  The  blow 
had  nearly  unseated  her  mind;  yet  there  was  a  straw  of 
hope  that  there  was  some  mistake,  or,  at  least,  exagger 
ation.  Then  came  the  climax,  in  a  whining,  pusillani 
mous  letter  from  Arthur  begging  a  release  from  his  en 
gagement. 


WHAT   CAME    OF    IT.  73 

Without  a  word  of  censure  or  complaint,  she  gave 
him  what  he  asked,  and  then  sat  down  to  confront  and 
contemplate  the  appalling  misery  of  her  situation.  As  a 
natural  consequence,  she  fell  dangerously  ill,  for  it  is 
thus  that  the  body  relieves  the  tortured  mind. 

Mrs.  Ainsley  acted  as  became  her.  She  protested 
that  there  was  a  conspiracy  to  desert  her  in  a  strange 
land,  and  that  Echo  was  not  doing  her  duty  by  so  mu 
nificent  a  patron  in  succumbing  to  a  trifling  ailment. 
"  Bring  me  the  smelling  bottle,  Edmond,  you  at  least 
are  here;"  and  the  poor  creature  ended  with  a  sob  and 
a  gush  of  hypochondriac  tears. 

There  are,  in  San  Francisco,  a  number  of  assignation 
houses,  supported  mainly  by  the  extravagant  licentious 
ness  of  stock-gamblers.  Under  pretence  of  having 
Echo  removed  to  a  Sister's  hospital  for  treatment  and 
experienced  nursing,  Edmond  readily  procured  her 
admittance,  by  the  liberal  use  of  his  money,  into  one  of 
those  gilded  palaces  of  ruin  referred  to.  It  was  no  part 
of  his  programme  that  the  young  lady  should  die,  so  he 
procured  her  the  services  of  a  skillful  but  unscrupulous 
physician. 

Then  the  fever  fiercely  ran  its  course,  and  life  and 
death  fought  implacably  for  the  possession  of  the  smitten 
girl,  babbling  incontinently  in  her  delirium  of  love  and 
faith,  inconstancy  and  despair. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

IGHT  came  on  in  the  beautiful  and  vivacious 
world  of  Paris.  Lady  Clifford,  in  the  solitude 
of  her  spacious  living  room,  was  pacing  to  and 
fro  in  feverish  unrest.  The  machinations  of 
Legrand  had  thus  far  succeeded.  Zarina,  in  the  charac 
ter  of  the  long  lost  daughter,  had  been  received  as  be 
came  the  occasion,  and  the  heinous  fraud  bade  fair  to 
prosper.  The  restoration  of  the  necklace  was  a  master 
stroke  of  policy.  Its  identity  with  the  necklace  worn 
by  the  babe  at  the  time  of  its  abduction,  could  not  for  a 
moment  be  doubted,  and  the  sight  of  the  familiar  orna 
ment  unlocked  a  flood  of  blessed  memories  in  the  moth 
er's  bosom.  Painfully,  again  and  again,  would  she  pore 
over  the  features  of  the  clever  young  actress,  striving  to 
recall  traces  of  her  child,  but  could  not,  and  she  would 
murmur  wearily  to  herself  :  "  My  heart  does  not  respond 
to  the  daughter  that  Heaven  has  restored  to  me,  but  I 
must  be  content;  it  was  long,  long  ago,  and  the  infant 
has  become  a  woman.1"  Ah!  this  grievous  wasting  of 
the  wounded  heart — that  longing  cry  of  her  soul  :  "Will 
they  come  !  will  they  come  !"  in  the  thorny  days  of 
expectancy,  only  for  this  at  last  !  These  hearts  of  ours, 
which  are  but  living  dust,  and  must  crumble  to  dust 
again,  are  continually  athirst  for  dews  that  never  fall  on 
earth.  The  woman  was  most  unhappy,  though  Prov- 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  5 

idence  had  seemingly  answered  her  prayer.  And  how 
had  wealth  attended  her  cultured  taste  in  the  adornment 
of  her  home  !  The  carpet  that  covered  the  floor  where 
we  beheld  her  charing  against  an  indefinable  sorrow, 
was  of  a  gorgeous  pattern,  mingling  the  richest  hues 
of  the  rainbow  in  a  very  garden  of  silence  !  Pictures 
from  the  hands  of  the  masters,  garnished  the  walls  with 
vivid  portraits  and  mellow  landscapes.  The  mantel 
was  a  chef  cTceuvre  of  mediaeval  art,  and  costly  statuary 
was  disposed  in  appropriate  places.  An  ebony  case, 
heavily  embossed  with  silver,  contained  the  best  books 
in  magnificent  binding,  for  there  was  no  room  devoted 
specially  to  a  library,  and  the  windows  of  heavy  plate 
glass  were  draped  in  damask  and  lace.  And  yet  the 
mistress  of  these  luxurious  appointments  was  complain 
ing  to  God  of  sorrow! 

While  thus  engaged,  a  visitor  was  announced  —  M. 
Legrand. 

"  Show  him  in,  Fantil,"  said  Lady  Clifford,  I  shall 
receive  him  here." 

"  Ah,  madame,"  said  Legrand,  entering,  with  a  low 
bow,  "  I  hope  that  I  find  you  happy!" 

"I  am  beginning  to  believe,  monsieur,  that  happiness 
is  not  of  earth." 

"No!  then  my  success  in  the  restoration  of  your  lovely 
daughter  has  turned  to  ashes,"  and  the  graceful  hypo 
crite  tried  to  look  as  though  his  heart  had  fallen  into 
one  of  his  polished  boots. 

"  Nay,  nay — I  know  that  I  api  ungrateful ;  again  re 
ceive  my  thanks  for  that  inestimable  service ;  but  my 


76  WHAT    CAME    OP    IT. 

cup  of  joy  is  dashed  with  the  bitterness  of  unreasonable 
doubts  and  fears." 

"  Human  nature  is  a  mystery,  madame,  and  the  motto 
of  the  Greeks,  4  Know  thyself!'  implies  a  harder  task 
than  any  of  us  can  perform.  With  your  permission, 
however,  I  have  still  another  matter  to  submit  concern 
ing  the  highly  romantic  history  ot  your  daughter.  I 
feared  yesterday  to  try  your  nerves  beyond  endurance, 
and  so  kept  back  an  important  part  of  the  evidence  in 
the  case.  Will  you  see  it  now?" 

"  Ah,  then,  there  is  something  more!  You  may  pro 
duce  it,  if  you  please." 

Legrand  was  examining  a  bundle  of  papers  he  had 
taken  from  an  inner  pocket  of  his  coat:  "Will  you 
recognize  the  handwriting  of  monsieur,  your  husband  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  should  know  it  anywhere,"  said  the  lady, 
with  a  slight  gasp,  feeling  faint  from  the  emotion  his 
question  had  aroused. 

He  silently  handed  her  a  time-stained  paper.  Lady 
Clifford  grasped  it  with  a  trembling  hand,  and,  for  a 
moment  the  written  words  danced  before  her  eyes  in  a 
hopeless  maze.  Recovering,  however,  she  made  out  to 
read  it  to  the  end,  and  then  fell  fainting  to  the  floor. 

It  was  the  letter  of  Cleaveland  Clifford  to  his  mother; 
that  brief  and  gloomy  epistle  in  which  the  despairing 
man  had  announced  the  ruin  of  his  home  and  had  im 
plored  the  maternal  affection  for  his  child. 

"Diablel"  chuckled  Legrand,  as  he  eyed  the  pros 
trate  form,  "  an  enemy  becomes  a  philosopher  when  he 
can  take  his  revenge  like  a  gentleman." 

"  He  rang  furiously  for  the  servants  and  told  them  to 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  77 

hasten  to  their  mistress  with  restoratives,  as  she  had 
fallen  in  a  swoon. 

Under  the  treatment  of  her  experienced  nurse,  Ni- 
nee,  Lady  Clifford  was  soon  able  to  sit  up,  but  she  only 
called  for  M.  Legrand,  who  had  awaited  her  recovery 
in  the  next  room,  to  thank  and  dismiss  him: 

"  I  have  no  longer  the  slightest  reason,  monsieur,  to 
doubt  the  truth  of  your  assertions.  The  letter  is  my 
husband's,  and  is  of  priceless  value  to  me."  She  hesi 
tated  a  moment  and  then  said:  "You  may  go,  now, 
but  come  again  to-morrow,  and  we  will  discuss  the  af 
fair  again." 

"When  I  hope  to  see  you  much  improved,  maclame, 
and  till  then  allow  me  to  give  you  good  night!"  and  he 
was  gone,  with  a  satanic  smirk  on  his  keen  features. 

"Alas!  my  poor  husband!"  murmured  Lady  Clifford 
when  left  alone  in  her  chamber,  and  all  through  the 
night  she  baptized  her  pillow  with  tears. 

"  Mon  Dieti !  Mon  Dieu  /"  cried  Ninee,  rushing 
into  the  presence  of  her  mistress  one  day  soon  after  these 
events,  bearing  in  her  hand  a  broken  bird's  nest,  "  mad 
emoiselle  has  destroyed  the  home  of  the  heavenly 
bird !"  and  the  dear  creature  sobbed  wildly. 

The  lady's  face  flushed  as  she  turned  towards  the 
despoiler  and  said,  with  sorrowful  reproach,  "  Oh,  my 
child;  is  it  possible  that  you  can  take  pleasure  in  the 
sorrow  of  another!  Surely  you  must  tell  me  that  you 
did  this  accidentally!" 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  laughed  the  young  lady  in  a  voice 
silvery,  yet  cruel,  "  Is  it  possible  that  the  antique  nurse's 
heart  is  an  egg  that  lies  at  the  bottom  of  a  bird's  nest? 


^8  WHAT   CAME    OF    IT. 

I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  tease  her,  and  then 
the  birds  should  have  been  better  behaved  than  to  build 
their  unsightly  nests  in  the  lilacs.  On  my  life,  mamma, 
I  think  Ninee  is  out  of  her  mind;  it  was  only  yesterday 
that  she  saw  a  magpie  fly  across  my  path,  when  she 
must  fall  down  and  pray !" 

A  slight  frown  of  displeasure  darkened  the  pure  brow 
of  the  mother. 

"  But,  my  dear,  you  certainly  know,  or  have  heard, 
that  it  is  an  evil  omen  for  the  magpie  to  cross  one's  path 
in  flight.  As  for  the  swallow,  whose  humble  nest  was 
on  the  wall,  shaded  by  the  lilacs,  it  is  venerated  by  the 
peasantry  of  France,  and  is  called  '  La  poule  de  Dieu? 
These  may  be  prejudices  which  will  clear  away  before 
the  light  of  education,  but  while  they  remain,  people  of 
good  feeling  must  respect  them." 

"As  you  will,  mamma,"  said  Echo,  for  by  this  name 
she  was  called  now,  I  regret  having  been  the  occasion 
of  so  much  disturbance  and  will  ask  Ninee's  pardon, 
and  hope  to  receive  your  kiss  of  pardon."  The  kiss 
was  given  with  all  a  mother's  tenderness,  and  the  ruf 
fled  waters  were  quiet  agam. 

As  time  went  on,  it  occurred  to  the  mother  that  her 
daughter  should  be  brought  out  in  society,  and  to  this 
project  M.  Legrand  joyfully  acceded. 

Mademoiselle  Clifford  therefore  made  her  debut  soon 
at  the  house  of  one  of  the  nobility,  on  the  occasion  of  a 
brilliant  party.  We  have  before  referred  to  the  per 
sonal  attractions  of  the  young  lady,  which,  it  may  be 
readily  conceived,  lost  nothing  by  the  accessories  of 
splendid  apparel  and  artistic  toilet.  She  was  bold, 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  79 

graceful,  dashing,  witty,  wealthy,  and,  in  fact,  all  that 
the  dissipated,  courtly  society  of  Paris  could  require. 

Among  the  host  of  admirers  who  immediately  fell 
into  the  train  of  the  young  debutante,  was  La  Croix,  a 
rich  and  dissolute  count  of  the  Empire,  who  was  soon 
more  conspicuous  than  his  competitors  in  the  race  for 
mademoiselle's  favor,  and  boasted  of  his  success  at  the 
fashionable  clubs. 

"J/tfjfo//"  he  would  exclaim  in  the  elegant  lan 
guage  of  the  turf — "the  girl  is  of  good  form  and  a  proud 
stepper." 

A  dangerous  intrigue  between  the  two  was  soon  in 
full  flower,  notwithstanding  the  surveillance  of  the 
thoughtful  mother,  vitalized  in  the  almost  constant  com 
panionship  of  Ninee. 

So,  one  happy  day,  while  the  moments  were  dissolv 
ing  languidly  in  the  gold-tinted  air  of  June,  Echo,  en 
veloped  in  a  gossamer  cloud  of  summer  dress,  was  seen 
to  enter  a  green-wreathed  arbor  in  the  garden  and  seat 
herself  as  if  to  read;  but  the  newly  cut  volume  of 
"Monte  Cristo"  was  suffered  to  lie  idly  in  her  lap  and 
the  lady  fell  to  musing.  Very  soon  a  sound  was  heard 
as  if  some  one  had  vaulted  lightly  over  the  stone  wall 
in  the  rear,  and  the  flowering  vines  that  secured  the  en 
trance  were  gaily  pushed  aside  by  a  handsome  young 
man,  dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion,  and  perfumed  be 
yond  the  rivalry  of  the  roses — 

"Queen  rose  of  the  rose-bud  garden  of  girls!" 

quoted  La  Croix,  in  greeting,  being  proud  of  his  famil 
iarity  with  English  literature  and  language. 


SO  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

"  Good  morning-,  count,"  replied  the  young  lady, 
with  a  slight  flush  on  her  cheek,  "  You  are  a  scholar, 
then,  as  well  as  a  handsome  knight." 

"  Nay,  mademoiselle,"  said  the  young  man  gallantly, 
kissing  the  hand  that  she  extended,  "I  am  nothing  but 
your  slave." 

"  Be  seated,  then,  and  regale  me  with  some  of  the  gos 
sip  of  your  delightful,  frivolous  world." 

"  Rather  let  us  talk  of  love  in  this  atmosphere  of 
roses,"  he  exclaimed,  seating  himself  at  her  side  and 
printing  an.  ardent  kiss  on  her  lips:  "  Do  you  know  that 
I  begin  to  suspect  that  you  will  get  me  into  trouble, 
my  dear?" 

"  Say,  rather,  that  I  shall  destroy  you  with  kindness." 

"A  death  that  an  angel  might  desire,"  he  said  raptur 
ously,"  claiming  another  kiss — "but  the  danger  that  I 
apprehend  is  from  a  harsher  hand — that  of  M.  Legrand." 

"  Ha!  ha!  M.  Legrand  is  a  kind  of  godfather  of  mine." 

"  I  think  he  must  be  a  lover  of  yours;  he  glares  at  me 
ferociously  whenever  I  approach  you  in  society,  and 
one  of  these  days  I  am  sure  that  he  will  honor  me  with 
a  cartel." 

"  There  is  little  danger  of  that,  dear  count,  and," 
with  a  blush,  "  you  are  secure  in  my  favor — is  not  that 
enough?" 

"Enough!  it  is  the  joy  of  Paradise  in  a  single 
draught." 


CHAPTER  X. 

'HAT,  monsieur;  you  here!"  exclaimed  Echo, 
otherwise  Madame  Legrand,  as,  on  leaving 
the  arbor,  she  almost  ran  into  the  arms  of  her 
husband. 

"  Nothing  more  probable,  madame,"  said  M.  Le 
grand,  with  a  dangerous  sneer,  his  face  white  with  st  p- 
pressed  rage ;  "  let  us  return  to  your  trysting  bower — I 
have  words  for  you  which  are  quite  as  important  as  the 
idle  flatteries  of  a  libertine." 

"  Parcl'ieu!"  thought  the  false  Echo,  following  her 
-  husband  into  the  arbor,  "  there  is  trouble  already,  and 
it  shall  be  a  match  of  wits  and  hardihood."  But  the 
mocking  smile  faded  from  her  lips,  nevertheless,  when, 
motioning  for  her  to  be  seated,  he  stood  calmly  before 
her  and  began : 

"  I  gave  you  credit  for  discretion,  Zarina,  if  not  for 
virtue.  We  are  necessary  to  each  other  in  the  business 
we  have  undertaken,  to  say  nothing  of  our  legal  union, 
and  there  must  be  no  double  masks — no  treachery  among 
traitors.  I  love  you  in  my  way,  but  when  we  have  con 
summated  our  designs,  you  may  go  upon  the  town  if 
you  like;  all  that  I  require  of  you  now  is  that  your  des 
picable  gallantries  shall  not  ruin  the  work  we  have 
begun.  You  cannot  deceive  me;  I  am  the  originator 

and  director  of  this  great  scheme  upon  the  fortune  of 
4 


62  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

Lady  Clifford,  and  I  demand  your  implicit  obedience 
till  success  shall  be  achieved.  Have  you  an  answer  ?" 

"  Only  this,  monsieur,"  replied  the  subtle  young  wo 
man,  "  that  I  am  yours  in  everything,  and  that  you  have 
misconstrued  the  attentions  which  I  have  received  from 
that  insipid  count.  You  know  the  freedom  which  we 
acquire  upon  the  stage,  and  what  I  have  done  is  simply 
the  fault  of  my  education.  I  swear  that  I  love  you  and 
you  alone,  and  that  LaCroix  is  no  more  in  my  thoughts, 
and  can  be  no  more  than  a  handsome  poodle.  Here 
after  I  shall  be  more  guarded  in  my  intercourse  with 
men,  so  that  I  shall  not  receive  such  cruel  reproaches;" 
and  the  guileless  beauty  actually  had  the  cleverness  to 
produce  a  tear  or  two. 

What  happened  then  has  always  happened  since  the 
world  began.  There  was  forgiveness  and  reconciliation, 
and  the  wife,  sub  rosa,  was,  a  few  minutes  later,  lying 
voluptuously  in  the  arms  of  her  husband,  amid  mutual 
murmurs  of  love  ! 

"  You  will  doubt  me  no  more,  then  ?"  she  said,  softly, 
disengaging  her  lips  from  a  lingering  kiss. 

"  No,  my  love,  but  I  am  impatient  for  the  time  when, 
with  wealth  at  our  command,  we  may  feast  upon  the 
joys  of  wedlock  without  restraint." 

"  Well,  monsieur,  we  have  before  talked  of  hastening 
that  time;  if  there  be  obstacles,  let  us,  as  you  have  often 
said,  remove  them." 

"  You  are  right,  my  dear,  we  must  move  cautiously, 
but  we  must  move.  There  are  two  great  natural  laws 
which  will  sanction  our  work — the  universal  law  of  self 


WHAT    CAME    OFIT.  83 

defense,  and   the   command,  not  less  obligatory  and  uni 
versal,  to  pursue  our  happiness." 

The  lady  smiled  her  approval  of  his  philosophy,  and 
he  continued: 

"  I  have  been  studying  the  nature  of  occult  poisons 
very  much  of  late ;  it  is  a  sublime  science,  and  I  flatter 
myself  that  I  have  penetrated  its  arcana.  Look  here  !" 
and  he  took  -from  his  pocket  and  held  before  her  a  small 
phial  filled  with  a  brilliant  liquid.  "  This  is  one  of  the 
most  mysterious  poisons  that  has  ever  been  discovered, 
and  its  preparation  was,  I  believe,  a  secret  of  the  Bor- 
gias.  Observe  that  it  is  colorless,  odorless,  and  that  its 
taste  can  easily  be  disguised ;  that  it  is  slow,  insidious, 
fatal,  and  that  it  leaves  not,  like  a  bungling  assassin,  the 
footprints  of  its  crime — and  you,  involved  in  the  meshes 
of  a  gigantic  plot,  must  acknowledge  and  adore  its 
power." 

" Morbleu!"  said  she,  with  a  faint  shiver;  "it  is  like 
the  bottled  genii  of  the  Arabian  story,  and  it  strikes  like 
the  unseen  hand  of  God  !" 

"  Yes,  it  is  all  that,  love ;  two  drops  a  clay  in  food  or 
drink,  will  effect  changes  in  the  world  and  bring  happi 
ness  to  those  who  deserve  it." 

"  Give  it  me,"  she  murmured,  and  as  a  glance  of  deadly 
meaning  was  exchanged,  she  took  possession  of  the 
phial. 

"  Pcstc  !  it  is  late!"  he  said,  looking  at  his  watch, 
"and  we  must  kiss  and  part;"  and  the  delectable  pair 
parted  with  a  caress  that  was  worthy  of  better  natures. 

That  night,  in  the  secrecy  of  her  chamber,  the  retiree) 


84  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

danseuse  held  the  potent  phial  to  the  light  as  she   stood 
partially  undressed,  and  admired  its  gem-like  brilliancy. 

"  Mon  Dieu  /"  she  exclaimed,  in  soliloquy,  "  it  glitters 
like  the  lightning  !  Ah,  sweetheart — husband  mine  ! 
you  have  put  a  powerful  weapon  into  my  hands,  and  you 
must  look  to  yourself.  Fool  !  does  he  think  me  blind, 
that  I  cannot  see  that  he  puts  the  burden  of  the  guilt 
upon  me,  and,  the  deed  accomplished,  hopes  to  have  me 
irrevocably  in  his  power  ?  The  end  is  not  yet,  monsieur 
— a  plot  is  as  full  of  plots  as  an  egg  is  full  of  meat  !" 
With  these  virtuous  thoughts  to  guard  her  pillow,  the 
sleep  of  the  young  woman,  when  she  retired  a  few  mo 
ments  later,  was  sweet  and  profound. 

A  few  evenings  subsequent  to  the  events  just  narrated, 
Lady  Clifford  and  the  person  known  as  her  daughter, 
were  returning  from  a  successful  dinner  party,  where  the 
young  woman,  thanks  to  the  maternal  taste  in  dressing 
her,  had  attained  the  enviable  distinction  of  being  the 
cynosure  of  all  eyes. 

M.  Legrand  had  a  seat  in  the  carriage,  but  he  was  ap 
parently  unhappy.  There  was  a  settled  look  of  gloom 
and  bitterness  on  his  face,  which,  exert  himself  as  he 
might,  he  was  wholly  unable  to  exorcise. 

Echo  was  flushed  with  excitement  and  the  glory  of 
conquest.  She  had  lost  her  head  entirely  in  the  giddy 
swirl  of  admiration  she  had  created,  and  had  flirted 
audaciously  with  a  dozen  men — La  Croix  among  the 
number.  For  a  long  time  she  had  been  pouring  forth  a 
flood  of  comment  upon  the  persons  and  characters  of  the 
guests,  while  her  mother  sat  silently  listening,  or  ab 
sorbed  in  her  own  thoughts, 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  85 

"  111  the  name  of  the  inventor  of  speech,  my  dear 
mother,  I  implore  you  to  answer  some  of  my  questions — 
express  an  opinion — or  at  least  make  a  sign  that  you  live, 
•and  can  both  think  and  hear  !"  she  finally  cried,  exasper 
ated  by  the  indifference  of  her  audience. 

Legrand  frowned  heavily,  and  made  as  if  he  would 
have  spoken,  but  thought  better  of  it,  and  remained 
silent. 

"  I  have  been  pained,  my  daughter,"  said  Lady  Clif 
ford,  "  at  your  words,  your  thoughts,  and  your  manner. 
I  have  hesitated  to  speak  because  my  feelings  were  so 
deeply  concerned  for  you." 

"  Ha,  ha  !  Mother,  you  are  not  a  philosopher,  like 
myself  and  the  gay  and  versatile  Monsieur  Legrand  ! 
Why,  it  is  the  acme  of  philosophy  to  think  without  feel 
ing,  and  to  speak  without  thinking.  All  serious  thoughts 
are  a  useless  abrasion  of  the  tissue  of  the  brain,  and  it  is 
my  opinion  that  the  angels  are  immortal  simply  because 
they  are  happy,  and," — with  a  malicious  glance  at  Le 
grand — "  I  may  confess  to  you  that  the  knightly  La  Croix 
did  me  the  honor  to  call  me  an  angel  many  times  this 
afternoon." 

"  For  the  love  of  Heaven,  my  daughter,  restrain  your 
idle  tongue.  Your  conversation  does  no  credit  to  your 
nature  or  your  breeding,  and  you  pain  me  beyond  utter 
ance.  The  love  of  admiration,  when  unreasonably  in 
dulged,  is  poison  to  a  pure  soul,  and  destroys  every  germ 
of  good." 

"  Ah,  mother,  you  do  well  to  remind  me  of  my  breed 
ing," — Legrand  eyed  the  speaker  with  a  perceptible 
sneer — "  therein  lies  the  source  of  my  foolish  ways," 


86  WHAT    CAME    OP    IT. 

There  was  a  mournful  pathos  in  her  voice  that  com 
pletely  overcome  Lady  Clifford,  who  embraced  her  with 
misty  eyes,  and  begged  "the  poor  child"  to  forgive 
her. 

Little  more  was  said  until  the  carriage  arrived  at  its 
destination,  and  M.  Legrand  assisted  the  ladies  to  alight. 

He  clutched  Zarina's  hand  with  a  painful  grasp  in  as 
sisting  her  to  the  ground,  and  whispered  in  her  ear  the 
one  word — "  Beware  !" 


CHAPTER  XL 

PON  the  seventh  day,  stupor  succeeded  de 
lirium.  Arousing  the  patient  with  difficulty, 
the  physician  administered  the  medicine  him- 
self — remarking,  philosophically,  to  the  nurse : 
"It  were  better  for  her  to  die  thus,  while  she  lingers 
upon  the  threshold  of  sin,  but  the  duty  of  a  well-paid 
physician  does  not  comprehend  questions  of  such  moral 
magnitude;  and  our  frail,  beautiful  friend,  here,  will 
therefore  recover,  and  go  her  way — alluring  others,  per 
haps,  by  the  false  light  of  a  fair  face,  to  the  ruin  she  has 
embraced.  Hand  me  the  blue  bottle,  and  support  her 
head  a  moment,  please.  There,  that  will  do.  It  is  a 
bitter  draught,  but  not  so  deadly  as  the  kisses  that  have 
betrayed  her  !  Sick  prisoners  are  often  restored  to  health 
in  order  that  they  may  be  hung,  but  the  rescue  of  this 
girl  for  a  life  of  shame  is  still  a  ghastlier  paradox.  You 
know  your  duty,  now,  nurse.  Good-day  !"  And  the 
erudite  medico  passed  down  the  handsome  stairway, 
lightly  humming  a  bar  of  the  last  opera. 

On  the  evening  of  the  second  day  from  this,  Echo 
gradually  awoke  from  a  slumber  as  profound  and  dream 
less  as  that  of  the  grave.  Opening  her  eyes,  she  glanced 
around  the  dimly  lighted  room.  All  was  strange.  She 
tried  to  raise  her  hand,  but  it  fell  helplessly  at  her 
side. 


00  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

With  a  dazzling  sensation  of  recovering  thought,  she 
again  closed  her  eyes,  and  her  mind  wandered  back  to 
the  twilight  border  of  fantasy.  Presently,  hearing  the 
rustle  of  a  woman's  dress,  she  looked  up,  and  saw  a 
middle-aged  lady,  with  a  homely,  yet  kind  face,  bending 
over  her. 

"  You  have  been  very  sick,  dear,"  said  the  nurse,  for 
such  it  was,  in  a  soothing  voice,  as  she  tenderly  smoothed 
the  pillow.  "  You  are  better  now,  but  must  not  exert 
yourself  to  .talk.  Drink  this,  and  compose  yourself  to 
sleep." 

The  poor  girl  obeyed  without  a  word,  and  soon  glided 
from  the  phantom  land  of  fever  into  the  soft  embrace  of 
a  healing  slumber. 

The  convalescence  of  the  young  lady  was  progressing 
favorably,  when,  one  day,  a  note  from  Mrs.  Ainsley  was 
handed  her.  It  contained  words  of  sympathy  and  con 
dolence,  simply,  which  shaped  themselves  at  the  close 
into  a  whine  of  self-pity,  and  was  accompanied  by  a  taste 
ful  bouquet  of  flowers,  composed  of  a  girdle  of  rose- 
geranium  leaves  afound  a  pyramidal  cluster  of  pansies, 
surmounted  by  a  creamy  tuberose. 

The  nurse  observed,  with  surprise,  that  though  at  first 
the  invalid  pressed  the  flowers  to  her  lips  with  a  low  cry 
of  delight,  she  a  moment  later  threw  the  fragrant  offer 
ing  from  her  with  a  moan  of  pain,  as  a  purple  flush 
swept  into  her  white  face,  and  her  sensitive,  pale  lips 
curved  with  aversion. 

"  Take  the  flowers  away,"  she  said,  "  and  please  de 
fend  me  from  all  other  gifts  from  that  source  !"  The 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  89 

card  attached  to  the  bouquet  bore  the  name  of  Edmond 
Ainsley. 

In  narrating  this  incident  to  the  medical  attendant,  the 
nurse  expressed  the  belief  that  her  charge  was  the  victim 
of  some  cruel  wrong. 

"  I  never  was  more  puzzled  in  my  life  with  regard  to 
the  character  of  a  patient,"  said  the  man  of  nostrums ;  "  I 
am  an  excellent  judge  of  human  nature — it  is  incident  to 
our  profession,  and,  were  it  not  for  the  circumstances  of 
the  case,  I  should  say  that  this  young  woman  is  pure 
as  a  lily." 

And  so  he  thought  again  as  he  stood  at  the  bedside  of 
the  woman  he  had  saved  from  death.  Very  white,  wan, 
and  plaintive  was  the  face  resting  on  the  pillow.  The 
blue-veined  lids  drooped  listlessly  over  the  tender  eyes, 
and  the  long  lashes  swept  the  wasted  cheeks.  The 
doctor  looked  kindly  upon  this  picture  of  withered  love 
liness,  and  his  heart  was  stirred  with  a  noble  sympathy. 
He  had  a  daughter  of  his  own  at  home,  a  motherless  dar 
ling  like  Echo,  wrhom  he  loved  devotedly,  and  thoughts 
of  her  softened  his  voice  magically  when  he  bent  over 
the  invalid  and  said  : 

"God  and  science  have  given  us  the  victory,  my  dear; 
the  crisis  is  past,  and  you  will  get  well.  It  must  have 
been  a  great  mental  and  moral  strain  that  brought  you 
so  near  the  grave.  I  hope  that  you  will  give  me  your 
confidence,  and  call  upon  me  freely  for  any  assistance 
that  I  can  render  in  removing  the  causes  of  your 
malady." 

"  The  time  for  the  only  service  which  you  could  have 
done  me  has  passed,"  responded  Echo,  sadly.  "  Oh, 


90  WHAT    CAME    OF   It. 

doctor,  you  have  done  a  cruel  thing  in  prolonging  my 
life  !" 

"  No,  no,  my  child ;  those  are  idle  words' !  I  am  not 
a  Christian  in  the  true  sense,  and  I  am  proud  of  the  re 
sources  of  my  profession;  yet,  believe  me,  dear,  God 
takes  the  lives  that  have  accomplished  their  mission  on 
earth.  God  wills  it,  therefore,  and  life  is  still  a  prize  for 
you,  whatever  misfortunes  have  gathered  on  your  path. 
You  are  young  and  very  beautiful ;  take  courage,  then, 
and  we  will  assist  you  to  tie  the  broken  threads  of  love 
and  trust  together  again.  I  find  you  in  a  strange  place — 
a  place,  the  very  shadow  of  which  is  deadlier  than  that 
of  the  upas — but  I  take  a  vital  interest  in  the  life  that  I 
have  assisted  back  from  the  borders  of  shadow-land. 
Come  to  my  home,  when  you  have  recovered ;  I  am  a 
widower,  with  an  only  daughter  about  your  age,  and 
henceforth  you  shall  have  true  and  steadfast  friends." 

The  doctor  hesitated  a  moment,  and  a  slight  flush 
mantled  his  brow,  as  he  continued  : 

"  I  am  wealthy  and  powerful  in  this  community,  and  " — 
the  flush  deepened  on  the  broad  brow — "  I  am  lonely  and 
world-worn,  will  you  share  my  name  and  home  ?  I 
know  it  is  a  sudden  and  startling  proposition  to  you,  but 
judgment  and  feeling  unitedly  constrain  me  to  be  candid 
with  you.  Take  time  to  think  of  this,  if  you  wish  it; 
and,  at  all  events,  be  assured  that  a  home  and  a  father's 
protection  beneath  my  roof  are  yours  always." 

The  dreamy,  dark  eyes  dilated  with  surprise,  but  not 
a  vestige  of  color  dyed  the  marble  whiteness  of  her  brow, 
as  she  calmly  replied : 

"  Ah,  doctor,  your  proposition,  so  far  as  it  relates  to  a 


WHAT   CAME    OF    IT.  C)t 

holier  bond  than  friendship,  does  more  credit  to  your 
heart  than  your  judgment.  Even  were  things  other  than 
they  are,  I  could  not  see  you  thus  become  the  martyr  of 
your  pity.  The  title  of  wife  should  be  crowned  with  the 
richest  love  of  the  heart,  and  my  heart  is  dust  and  ashes 
now.  When  you  are  made  to  know  all  the  calamities 
that  have  befallen  me,  you  will  understand  me,  and  pity 
me  more  than  ever.  But  do  not,  I  beg  you,  withhold 
from  me  the  fatherly  affection  you  have  said  might  still 
be  mine — I  need  it  sorely,  sorely  !"  and  she  sighed  most 
mournfully. 

"  I  shall  not  annoy  you  with  persistency,  Miss  Clif 
ford,  but  you  must  yield  me  the  high  privilege  of  that 
paternal  friendship  which  I  feel  for  you.  When  you  are 
well  enough  we  will  talk  of  the  past  and  future,  and  in 
the  meantime  I  caution  you  against  all  who  are  not 
proven  and  disinterested  friends,  and " — the  doctor 
thought  of  declaring  plainly  the  character  of  the  gilded 
mansion  in  which  she  had  unaccountably  taken  refuge, 
but  concluded  that  she  was  safe  for  a  time,  and  so  con 
cluded  his  sentence,  "  now,  good-by,  for  to-day."  He 
touched  her  hand  affectionately,  and  withdrew. 

Regularly,  on  alternate  days,  during  this  time,  Ed- 
mond  Ainsley  brought  to  the  house  where  Echo  was 
lying  short  notes  of  inquiry  and  commiseration.  Trust 
ing  much  to  the  habitual  reserve  of  the  young  lady,  he 
hoped  by  these  attentions  to  quiet  her  mind  as  to  the 
safety  of  her  situation. 

The  days  dragged  heavily.  The  doctor  began  to 
exhibit  some  anxiety  about  the  slow  progress  of  his  si 
lent,  uncomplaining  patient.  A  dull  apathy  rested  upon 


92  ,  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT\ 

her,  and  she  lay  mysteriously  becalmed  half  way  upon 
the  voyage  of  recovery.  The  bright  world  had  opened 
to  her  restored  sight,  only  to  wither  and  darken  again  in 
the  memory  of  her  awakened  sorrow.  The  vision  of  life 
had  returned  again,  but  it  was  the  garden  of  betrayal  and 
despair,  sunless  and  songless  to  her  broken  heart.  The 
vestal  flames  of  hope  had  been  extinguished  there,  and 
the  sighing,  slow  winds  that  waved  the  drooping  flow 
ers,  were  heavy  with  the  burden  of  her  soul's  Geth- 
semane. 

Physic,  therefore,  was  no  longer  needed.  The  physician 
had  paid  his  last  visit,  and  gone  to  more  stirring  scenes 
on  the  wide  battle-field  of  death.  In  the  meantime 
Ainsley  was  in  the  full  feather  of  anticipated  victory,  and 
standing  before  the  glass  forty  times  a  day,  complimented 
himself  as  one  of  the  greatest  generals  of  the  age — a  man 
that  knew  how  to  crush  his  enemies  ! 

The  nurse  could  not  help  admiring  the  appearance  of 
her  charge,  one  evening,  as,  reclining  on  a  sofa  drawn 
up  by  the  window,  she  gazed  out  mournfully  on  the 
waters  of  the  bay,  the  tender,  solemn  eyes  harmonizing 
sweetly  with  the  spiritual  delicacy  of  the  thin,  trans 
parent  features.  She  was  simply  attired  in  a  white 
cambric  wrapper,  relieved  only  at  the  throat  and  wrists 
with  soft  ruchings  of  tulle.  A  delicate  white  rose-bud 
nestled  in  the  gold-tinted  hair  above  one  shell-like  ear, 
the  single  ornament  of  her  toilet. 

Suddenly  turning  her  mesmeric  glance  full  upon  the 
nurse,  she  said,  in  the  low,  thrilling  tones  the  latter  de 
lighted  to  hear  t 

"I  hope  vou  will  not  think  me  ungrateful,  kind  friend, 


WHAT  CAME:  OF  IT.  93 

for  the  unwearied  attentions  you  have  bestowed  on  a 
ship-wrecked  stranger.  I  shall  pray  the  good  Lord  to 
reward  you  bountifully." 

"  Do  not  mention  it,  child,"  said  the  other,  with  brisk 
kindliness;  "I  did  no  more  than  my  duty,  and  that,  I 
fear,  but  poorly.  There  is  something  on  my  heart,  how 
ever,  concerning  you,  and  since  you  have  spoken,  I  will 
speak.  I  do  not  wish  to  intrude  upon  the  privacy  of 
your  inner  thoughts,  but  my  interest  in  you  compels  me 
to  ask  if  you  have  counted  the  cost  of  the  step  you  have 
taken — if  your  feet  have  taken  deadly  hold  upon  the  life 
you  contemplate  ?" 

Wholly  innocent  of  any  suspicion  concerning  the  real 
peril  of  her  situation,  and  thinking  the  interrogatories  of 
the  nurse  referred  to  the  rejection  of  the  doctor's  offer, 
and  the  consequent  acceptance  of  a  lonely  life  of  drudg 
ery,  Echo  replied — "Oh  yes;  had  I  not  disobeyed  the 
command  of  God  and  turned  idol  worshipper,  these  ca 
lamities  could  not  have  befallen  me.  Alas !  each  of  us, 
like  ./Eschylus,  sings  to  some  enthroned  image  of  the 
heart.  'Jupiter  is  the  air;  Jupiter  is  the  earth;  Jupiter 
is  the  heaven ;  all  is  Jupiter.'  But,  alas,  for  the  heart ! 
when  its  idols  are  fallen  and  its  songs  are  dead !" 

"  I  was  young  and  pretty  once,  myself,"  said  the  nurse, 
with  a  half  smile  at  the  singularity  of  the  reminiscence, 
"  though  not  beautiful  like  you.  I,  too,  have  a  heart- 
history,  as  who,  indeed,  has  not?  Bereft  of  my  parents 
at  an  early  age,  I  was  left  alone  in  the  world,  without 
relatives  or  friends,  and  found  the  struggle  for  existence 
severe.  I  was  betrothed  to  a  young  missionary  who 
went  out  to  India,  whither  I  was  to  follow  him  at  the 


94  WHAT    CAME    OF    if. 

end  of  a  year,  but  he  fell  a  prey  to  the  fever,  and  the  star 
of  my  youth  went  down  never  to  rise  again.  I  am  old 
and  gray,  now,  but  the  grave  of  my  perished  love  is  still 
green  in  my  heart.  It  is  a  sorrow  that  has  kept  my  soul 
pure  in  the  midst  of  temptations  and  bitter  trials,  and  at 
last  my  life  has  been  crowned  with  a  heavenly  calm,  that 
is  not  despair,  because  it  is  fragrant  with  hope,  and  not 
joy,  because  it  is  mellowed  with  regret.  The  stricken 
heart  should  not  become  a  waste — a  hortus  siccus,  for 
fountains  and  flowers  shall  not  be  wanting  to  minds  that 
lie  open  to  the  sunshine  and  showers  of  heaven.  The 
memory  of  a  pure  sorrow  will  become  a  thing  of  beauty, 
a  golden  anchor  to  the  storm-tossed  soul." 

"  You  are  right,  my  kind  friend ;  happiness  is  a  young 
dream  that  will  visit  me  no  more.  My  prayer  is  for 
courage,  patience,  strength,  purity,  and  that  serenity  of 
which  you  have  so  clearly  spoken." 

"  To  be  good,  we  must  do  good,  my  dear.  Pleasure 
vanishes  in  the  grasp,  because  it  is  only  the  bloom- 
dust  on  the  wings  of  a  living,  eternal  good  —  the  calm 
of  a  tried  soul,  which  we  may  pursue,  over  thorny  ways 
it  may  be,  and  surely  gain.  To  be  plain  and  practical, 
I  see  no  consistency  in  your  noble  purposes  and  the  life 
you  have  espoused." 

"  True,"  musingly,  "  my  words  and  actions  seem  to 
conflict,  but  my  aspirations  are  holy,  and  I  shall  prayer 
fully  seek  the  right  way.  My  position  in  life  is  humble, 
but  no  shadow  of  dishonor  shall  fall  upon  it." 

"  Miss  Clifford,  I  am  astonished  at  you !"  There  was  a 
flash  of  scorn  in  the  fine  old  face. 

"I  do  not  understand  you,  nurse!"  said  Echo,  quickly, 


WHAT  CAME   OP   IT.  95 

with  a  movement  of  alarm.  "What  can  you  mean?" 
and  the  invalid  clasped  her  hands  nervously,  as  she  re 
garded  the  other  with  an  appealing  look. 

The  nurse  bent  over  her  work  and  seemed  at  a  loss 
for  a  reply,  when  Echo  continued,  imploringly :  "Oh, 
you  must  listen  to  my  story  and  then  you  will  not  be 
cruel !  You  have  told  me  of  your  love ;  it  was  a  sweet 
reality,  but  mine  was  a  phantom  and  a  curse.  You  can 
remember  a  mother's  kiss  and  a  father's  care  —  blessings 
I  never  knew.  The  love  that  I  leaned  upon,  and  oh,  it 
was  a  golden  chain  from  Heaven  to  me !  broke,  and  I 
was  cast  down  into  the  starless  abysses  of  despair.  Ar 
thur  Hoberg  was  the  loveliest,  noblest  man  on  earth  to 
me,  and  in  my  secret  soul  I  worshipped  him  as  though 
he  were  a  god.  Once  he  had  rescued  me  from  the 
flames  of  a  consuming  building,  at  the  peril  of  his  own 
life,  and  thus  had  another  title  to  the  life  he  had  saved. 
I  came  to  California  as  the  companion  of  a  rich  lady  of 
the  city  of  Quebec,  whose  burning  dwelling  it  was  from 
which  I  had  been  gallantly  rescued  by  Arthur.  She  has 
an  only  son,  Edmond  Ainsley,  wrho  has  persecuted  me 
with  his  base  attentions.  He  is  a  soulless  dandy,  a  vi 
cious  libertine,  whose  very  presence  is  contamination,  and 
I  repulsed  him  with  unutterable  disdain. 

"  Ah,  nurse !  I  can  almost  hear  the  soft  sighing  of  the 
wind  around  my  little  white  cottage  home  in  Canada; 
the  lullaby  of  the  birds  at  evening,  the  humming  of  the 
bees  at  noon-day,  and  the  soft  lowing  of  beautiful  old 
Floss  as  she  came  through  the  meadows  at  sunset.  Still 
can  I  see  the  smooth,  green  lawn,  with  its  flower-beds 
and  gravel  walks,  the  cleanly  porch,  shaded  with  clam- 


96  WHAT   CAMfi    OF    If. 

bering  vines,  where  dear  old  grandmother  used  to  sit 
with  her  Bible  in  the  fragrant  days  of  summer.  Oh, 
that  I  could  feel  those  kind  hands  on  my  weary  brow 
to-night,  and  know  that  in  all  the  world  there  was  at 
least  one  warm,  pulsing  heart  that  was  wholly  mine !" 

There  was  a  pause,  and  the  nurse  broke  in  agitatedly 
"Child!  child!  you  perplex  me  beyond  measure.     Your 
story  bears  every  evidence  of  truth ;  and,  yet,  how  came 
you   in  a  house   of  ill-fame,  represented   as  a  fashionable 
young  man's  mistress?" 

Echo  was  almost  stupefied  with  wonder — "  House  of 
ill-fame!  a  mistress!  Good  God!"  —starting  forward 
with  an  agonized  expression  of  face  —  "  is  this  the  hor 
rible  phantom  of  a  feverish  dream  ?  Has  God  really  for 
gotten  me,  and  allowed  the  fiends  of  hell  possession  of 
my  soul !  It  cannot  be !  it  cannot  be ! " 

The  nurse  started  up  and  laid  her  tender  hand  upon 
the  arm  of  the  excited  girl  — • "  Compose  yourself,  dear, 
you  are  safe  now,  and  the  wretched  designs  of  your  en 
emies  shall  come  to  naught.  But  tell  me  —  how  came 
you  here  ? " 

"  Why,  it  was  effected  while  I  was  unconscious.  When 
the  news  of  Arthur's  unfaithfulness  reached  me,  the 
blow  -was  more  than  I  could  bear,  and  I  sank  into  the 
desperate  fever  through  which  you  have  attended  me. 
The  notes  that  you  have  brought  me  were  from  Mrs. 
Ainsley,  saying  that  she  had  caused  my  removal  to  a 
Sisters'  hospital,  and  this  I  supposed  to  be  the  character 
of  the  place,  though  I  have  sometimes  wondered  that 
none  of  the  good  nuns  have  appeared  in  my  sick  room. 
But  why  are  you  here  ?  " 


WHAT   CAME    OP    IT.  97 

u  I  am  a  nurse  by  profession,  dear,  and  go  wherever 
duty  calls  me.  I  trust  that  I  have  done  much  good  in 
such  places  by  sowing  the  seeds  of  reform." 

Echo  turned  resolutely  towards  her  bureau  —  "  Come, 
then,  let  us  get  ready,  and  leave  this  poisoned  air ! " 


CHAPTER    XII. 

'T  eight  o'clock  the  following  morning,  while 
the  inmates  of  the  house  were  still  wrapped 
in  slumber,  Echo,  closely  veiled,  and  leaning 
upon  the  arm  of  the  faithful  nurse,  entered  the 
coach  which  had  been  ordered  the  night  before,  and  was 
driven  rapidly  away.  Before  night  the  two — for  the 
nurse  had  now  established  a  gentle  protectorate  over  the 
young  lady — were  comfortably  settled,  in  quarters  of 
their  own  in  a  distant  part  of  the  city,  far  from  the  bustle 
and  roar  of  Kearney  and  Montgomery  streets. 

During  the  following  month,  mainly  through  the  un 
tiring  effort  of  Christian  Newbury,  the  nurse,  Echo  se 
cured  a  large  class  for  instruction  in  music,  and  the  grim 
battle  for  bread  was  fairly  launched. 

One  day,  when  returning  from  the  home  of  a  pupil  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Telegraph  Hill,  the  attention  of  the 
music  teacher  was  drawn  to  the  piteous  cries  of  a  little 
girl,  not  more  than  four  years  of  age,  whom  a  group  of 
street  gamins,  "  hoodlums,"  as  they  are  now  known  to 
odious  fame  in  the  Bay  City,  were  industriously  torment 
ing.  As  the  teacher  reached  this  scene  of  cruelty,  one 
of  the  grimy  young  devils  kicked  the  feet  of  the  child 
from  under  her,  and  she  fell  heavily  to  the  pavement, 
fracturing  her  arm.  The  gallows  buds  then  fled,  with  a 


WHAT    CAME     OF    IT.  99 

scattering  yell  of  triumph  that  had  an  Apache  ring 
in  it. 

"  My  arm,  my  arm,  my  arm  !"  screamed  the  child,  as 
she  scrambled  to  her  feet,  and  clung  to  Echo's  dress. 

"  Poor  little  thing,"  said  the  latter,  pityingly  stroking 
the  child's  disheveled  hair ;  "  Where  do  you  live  ?  Tell 
me,  and  I  will  take  you  home." 

"  Don't  you  know  ?"  said  the  child,  looking  at  Echo 
through  her  tears,  which  she  was  trying  to  dry  with  her 
sleeve.  "  We's  ben  livin'  in  the  alley,  but  we's  goin'  to 
live  in  the  sky  now,  where  there's  a  garden,  and  flowers 
and  birds  and  sunshine  allus,  and  where  the  good  Lord 
has  made  us  a  house  full  of  jewels,  and  close  and  goodies 
and  everything.  Mamma's  gone  there  now,  and  I'm  to 
go,  too,  as  soon  as  the  pretty  angels  come  for  me,  and 
you  are  so  pretty  and  kind  I  know  you're  one,  and  you're 
goin'  to  take  me  now,  aint  you  ?  And  you  won't  let  the 
hoodums  hurt  me  any  more,  will  you  ?" 

"Yes,  poor  child,"  said  Echo,  deeply  affected,  "dry 
your  tears,  and  we  shall  see  what  can  be  done."  Then 
the  young  lady  looked  around  in  much  bewilderment, 
as  if  she  would  question  the  very  street  for  some  infor 
mation  concerning  the  child.  As  if  in  answer  to  this 
inquiring  glance,  a  girl  of  about  twelve  years  of  age  here 
stepped  forward  and  observed  : 

"  The  young  one's  name  is  Wistlt,  Miss,  and  her 
mother  died  yesterday.  I  guess  she  hasn't  got  no  home 
nor  folks  now." 

Echo's  heart  filled  at  this  sententious  tale  of  woe,  and, 
gazing  at  the  little  wanderer  with  misty  eyes,  she  mur 
mured  : 


lOO  WHAT   CAME    OP   IT. 

"  Poor  little  waif,  uncouth,  unloved,  desolate  !  We 
walk  in  the  fields  and  crush  the  tender  flowers  at  every 
step;  lo  !  the  relentless  destinies  tread  us  down  with 
their  iron  feet  in  the  same  way  !  What  will  become  of 
this  tiny  nursling  of  the  street,  if  I  do  not  give  it  a  home 
and  protection  ?  Surely  I  have  been  divinely  appointed 
to  this  humane  office ;  and  perhaps  in  saving  and  nourish 
ing  this  periled  life,  I  may  restore  much  that  has  been 
lost  from  my  own.  Come,  my  child,  you  must  go  with 
me,  and  perhaps  we  shall  find  mamma  and  the  beautiful 
garden  of  the  sky." 

The  grimy  little  hand  was  laid  confidingly  in  her  own, 
and  they  went  on  together. 

"  Can't  you  tell  me  your  name,  dear  ?"  said  Echo, 
coaxingly,  after  they  had  walked  a  little  way. 

"  I'm  only  Wistit,  ma'am  !" 

"  But  what  did  your  mother  call  you  ?" 

"  Mamma  called  me  darling,  but  everybody  else  called 
me  Wistit,"  replied  the  child,  moaning  with  the  pain  of 
her  arm. 

At  this  moment  a  well-dressed  gentleman  overtook 
them,  and  greeting  Echo  respectfully,  said  : 

"Pardon  me,  madam,  but  I  noticed  the  accident  from 
a  window,  and  observing  that  the  little  girl  was  hurt, 
and  that  you  were  seemingly  a  stranger  to  her,  I  have 
ventured  to  offer  my  assistance." 

Echo  responded  to  his  salutation,  and  was  thinking  of 
what  she  should  say,  when  the  gentleman  stooped  beside 
the  child,  and  said,  gently  : 

"Let  me  examine  your  arm,  little  one;  may  be  I  can 
help  you." 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  IOI 

He  rose  in  a  moment,  and  said  : 

"  The  poor  thing's  arm  is  fractured,  and  she  must  have 
immediate  assistance.  I  should  advise  you  to  give  her 
in  charge  of  a  policeman,  whose  duty  it  will  be  to  convey 
her  to  the  city  hospital  for  treatment." 

He  was  a  man  of  about  thirty-five,  of  commanding 
stature  and  shapely  proportion,  with  a  dark  face,  cleanly 
shaven  with  the  exception  of  a  flowing  black  mustache, 
and  full,  brilliant  eyes.  As  he  concluded  his  remarks  he 
touched  his  hat,  with  a  white,  shapely  hand,  and  handed 
Echo  a  card,  on  which,  in  clear  script,  was  the  name — 
Cleaveland  Fairish. 

Before  Echo  could  answer,  the  child  broke  in  : 
"  No,  no,  no  !     I'm  afraid  of  the  p'liceman,  and  I  won't 
go  t'o  the  hospil  !     You  will  take  me  to  mamma,  and  she 
will  make  me  well  !" 

Mr.  Fairish  pondered  a  moment,  and  made  another 
suggestion  : 

"  Perhaps,  then,  it  will  be  better  for  me  to  call  a  coach 
and   accompany  you  to  the   office    of  some  physician. 
When  the  arm  shall  have  been  dressed,  I  will  cheerfully 
assist  you  in  arranging  for  the  future  of  the  homeless 
child,  if  you  will  kindly  allow  me  that  privilege.     It  is 
too  great  a  burden  to  fall  on  you  alone." 
Echo  hesitated  a  moment,  and  replied  : 
"  Very  well ;  I  wish  only  to  do  what  is  best." 
There  is  a  Latin  phrase  which  counsels  us,  very  in 
definitely,   to    resist  beginnings.      The  purport   of    the 
warning  evidently  affects  evil  beginnings  only,  and  yet, 
in   that  circumscribed   sense,  it  leaves   an  individual   in 
hopeless  entanglement.     Causes,  both  good  and  evil,  as 


IO2  WHAT   CAME    OF   IT. 

regards  results,  are  woven  together  in  an  undistinguish- 
able  maze,  and  all  that  is  left  for  the  wayfarer  is  to  be 
candid,  courageous,  yet  cautious,  too,  and  as  wise  as  he 
may,  in  taking  up  the  threads  of  destiny,  and  leave  the 
rest  to  the  merciful  care  of  Heaven. 

To  Echo,  inexperienced  as  she  was,  there  seemed  to 
be  no  impropriety  in  thus  associating  herself  with  an  un 
known  gentleman  in  a  passing  work  of  charity,  with 
which  matter,  indeed,  her  mind  was  wholly  engrossed. 
The  course  of  our  lives,  or  rather  of  the  possibilities  of 
our  lives,  is  marked  by  an  infinite  number  of  lines,  which, 
lying  in  contact  at  the  beginning,  seem  to  be  parallel, 
but  really  diverge  widely  as  they  extend,  and  lead  to 
contrasted  results. 

Then,  as  if  to  explain  her  intentions,  Echo  said  : 

"  I  had  concluded  to  take  the  forlorn  little  estray  to  my 
home." 

Mr.  Farrish  cast  at  her  a  quick,  inquiring  glance,  and 
suggested  a  doubt,  with  just  the  shadow  of  a  fleeting 
smile  on  his  dark  face  : 

"Are  you  sure  it  will  be  best  ?  Perhaps  your  people 
will  object  to  the  spontaneous  philanthrophy  of  your 
act  ?" 

Echo  thought  that  Mr.  Farrish  was  rather  spon 
taneously  thrusting  himself  into  other  people's  business; 
but  she  replied,  with  mild  gravity  : 

"My  parents  are  dead.  I  have  only  to  serve  my  own 
taste,  convenience  and  sense  of  duty." 

"  Ah,  then,  that  relieves  you  of  all  embarrassment." 

And  the  gentlemanly  Mr.  Farrish  seemed  to  approve 
her  independent  state.  Then,  in  pursuance  of  the  stmn- 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  103 

ger's  counsel,  the  office  of  a  physician  was  visited,  and 
the  fractured  arm  skillfully  set  and  bandaged. 

Mr.  Fairish  accompanied  Echo  to  the  door  of  her  res 
idence  in  the  carriage  he  had  called,  and  there  gracefully, 
and  wisely,  took  his  leave. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  seven  wonders,  what  have  you 
here  ?"  exclaimed  nurse  Newbury,  as  she  opened  the 
door  and  gazed  upon  the  ill-assorted  pair  with  con 
sternation. 

"A  young  lady  in  distress,  sister,"  answered  Echo, 
cheerfully,  "whom  the  laws  of  humanity  and  chivalry 
constrain  us  to  protect." 

"  Well,  well  !  A  dog,  two  cats,  and  a  street  waif,  all 
in  a  month  !  Bless  me,  Echo,  I  hope  you  have  reached 
the  climax  now  ?" 

Meanwhile  the  child,  glancing  from  one  to  the  other, 
clung  pathetically  to  the  dress  of  her  deliverer,  and 
trembled  with  apprehension.  Seating  herself,  and  taking 
the  child  tenderly  upon  her  lap,  Echo  then  recounted  the 
history  of  the  case. 

"  The  gentleman  was  right,"  said  the  other,  when  she 
had  heard  all ;  "  the  child  should  have  been  sent  to  the 
hospital  ir&mediately.  You  do  not  seriously  intend  keep 
ing  her,  my  dear  ?" 

"I  do,  if  you  consent,  sister,"  said  Echo,  gravely. 

"Why,  child,  you  have  enough  to  do  in  caring  for 
yourself,  and  so  have  I.  There  are  organized  charities 
which  look  after  such  cases  more  effectively  than  we 
can." 

"  Organized  charities  !  Oh,  sister,  do  you  not  know 
those  institutions  nre  the  last  resort  of  the  wretched  ?• 


104  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

Charity,  the  '  twice  blessed,'  is  there  measured  out  by 
the  inch,  and  loses  its  flavor  in  the  grudging  dole  ! 
Something  has  interested  me  strangely  in  my  little 
"Wistit,"  as  she  quaintly  calls  herself,  and  I  must  care 
for  her  personally,  even  at  a  great  sacrifice  of  time,  com 
fort  and  convenience." 

"  Let  us  take  her,  then,"  said  the  nurse,  softened  by 
the  earnestness  of  her  friend ;  "  God  will  provide,  and  we 
shall  make  out  somehow." 

Echo  hastened  to  sanction  this  understanding  with  a 
kiss,  and  the  little  girl  was  brought  between  them  and 
received  the  kiss  of  formal  adoption. 

It  transpired  during  the  following  days  that  Mr.  Far- 
rish  had  taken  more  than  ordinary  interest  in  the  street 
Arab,  now  cleansed  of  alley  stains,  prettily  clothed,  and 
nourished  in  the  bosom  of  a  warm  affection,  from  the 
fact  that  he  called  several  times  with  propitiatory  gifts  of 
bon-bons  for  the  child  and  genial  courtesy  for  nurse 
Newbury,  Echo,  on  these  occasions,  not  being  visible. 

One  Thursday  evening,  at  prayer-meeting,  great  was 
the  astonishment  of  the  nurse  and  Echo,  when  their 
pastor,  at  the  conclusion  of  the  services,  advanced  with 
this  same  Mr.  Farrish  and  introduced  him  to  our  friends 
as  an  old  and  valued  friend !  All  suspicion  of  fraud  thus 
set  at  rest,  Mr.  Farrish,  being  an  intelligent  and  attrac 
tive  man,  was  thenceforth  an  acceptable  visitor  at  the 
residence  of  Echo  and  Aunt  Newbury,  as  the  latter  now 
came  to  be  called,  and  the  mills  of  destiny  ground 
slowly  on. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

•HE  brow  of  M.  Legrand  began  to  wear  a 
sinister  gloom.  He  daily  became  more  and 
more  bitter  and  morose,  and  was  an  enigma 
to  his  friends.  Chagrin  poisoned  his  medit 
ations,  and  jealousy  was  gnawing  at  his  heart.  He  saw 
Zarina  pursuing  -a  systematic  course  of  flirtation  with 
the  debonair  count,  and  he  knew  she  was  already  false 
in  sentiment,  and  in  a  fair  way  of  becoming  criminal  in 
deed.  Vain,  giddy  women  of  Zarina's  order,  are  sus 
ceptible  of  the  deepest  corruption.  The  empty  pride  of 
fair  features  and  splendid  dress,  and  of  the  venomous  bab 
ble  of  flattering  tongues,  is  an  eternal  Sphinx  that  haunts 
the  highways  of  society  with  those  remorseless  riddles 
of  chastity  and  honor  which  tinted  lips  cannot  answer. 
The  wrecks  of  female  loveliness  and  truth  are  gay  with 
ribbons,  diamonds  and  rouge! 

The  physicians  of  M.  Legrand  advised  country  air 
and  remission  of  labor;  but  the  jaundiced  plotter  sniffed 
danger  in  the  atmosphere  and  would  not  desert  the  field. 
He  resolved  to  restrain  Zarina  with  a  strong  hand,  and 
force  her  inexorably  into  the  accomplishment  of  his  de 
signs.  He  had  come  to  admire  the  woman  extremely, 
as  well  as  fear  her,  so  well  had  his  villainous  teaching 
prospered  in  the  fruitful  soil  of  a  vicious  nature,  and  he 

felt  the  necessity  of  bracing  himself  for  the  impending 

5] 


IO6  WHAT   CAME   OF   IT. 

struggle  with  unusual  effort.  He  was  a  good  swords 
man  and  a^dead  shot  with  the  pistol,  not  lacking  in  nat 
ural  courage,  but,  an  aftair  with  the  count,  might  lead  to 
disastrous  discoveries  and  ruin  all. 

On  the  other  hand,  Zarina  was  really  infatuated  with 
La  Croix,  and  her  brain  was  whirling  with  the  intoxica 
tion  of  pleasure.  She  was  desperate,  demoniac  with  the 
awakened  fury  of  her  passions  and  capable  of  the  wild 
est  excesses.  A  man  is  ordinarily  governed  by  reason, 
but  a  woman  is  moved  by  intuitions.  Corrupt  the  causes 
of  action,  therefore,  in  women  by  vitiating  the  source  of 
her  intuitions,  and  she  will  head  for  the  lakes  of  sulphur 
with  blinding  velocity. 

While  things  were  in  this  condition,  Lady  Clifford 
gave  a  magnificent  dinner  party.  The  guests  were  nu 
merous  and  fashionable,  and  the  enjoyment  supreme. 
Zarina,  whose  real  name  will  be  used  when  she  is  spoken 
of,  and  the  assumed  when  she  is  addressed,  was  queenly, 
in  a  delicate,  shimmering  green  silk  and  over-dress  of 
costly  lace,  embellished  with  grand  golden  lilies,  whose 
diamond  petals  gleamed  and  glowed  with  starry  splen 
dor  as  she  moved  in  the  dance.  She  had  advanced  rap 
idly  in  the  graces  of  high  life,  and  was  considered  au 
fait  in  amorous  intrigue  by  a  host  of  perfumed  gallants. 

During  the  evening  she  managed  to  have  a  moment's 
tete  a  tete  with  La  Croix  on  the  balcony.  These  two, 
being  "  birds  of  a  feather,"  inspired  each  other  magneti 
cally,  and  the  brief  interview  in  the  odorous  moonlight 
was  rich  with  sensuous  kisses  and  endearing  words. 

"Ah,  my  prince,"  said  Zarina,  returning  his  embraces 
with  unabashed  warmth,  "  stolen  [waters  are  sweet,  but 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  IOy 

the  moral  philosophers  have  called  them  deadly.  Do 
you  know,  my  dear,  that  your  passionate  glances  and 
amorous  behavior  have  aroused  mamma's  suspicions  this 
evening,  and  that  M.  Legrand  devours  you  with  the 
eyes  of  a  tiger  ? " 

"  The  full  cup  foams  over,  love ;  but  what  of  that  ?  I 
swear  by  the  crimson  blood  of  my  heart  and  the  nectar 
of  your  glowing  lips  that  you  shall  be  my  wife.  I  shall 
seek  an  immediate  opportunity  of  proposing  the  matter 
to  your  mother." 

"  No !  no !  count,  that  will  never  do ! "  exclaimed  Zar- 
ina  with  vehemence.  "  I  implore  you  to  believe  that  the 
course  you  have  indicated  would  snuff  out  our  young 
and  happy  love  like  a  wax  taper.  Be  patient  yet  a  little 
longer,  and  the  time  will  come,  and  that  ere  many 
months  have  passed,  when  the  desire  of  your  heart,  and 
mine,  shall  be  fulfilled.  It  is  my  opinion  that  great 
changes  are  about  to  occur,  and  that  M.  Legrand,  the 
arch-enemy  of  our  happiness,  contemplates  a  long 
voyage." 

"  Your  speech  is  dark  with  enigmas,  sweet-heart,  but 
your  lips  blossom  with  a  confession  dear  to  my  soul,  and 
I  shall  be  content  to  wait.  But,  parbleu  !  we  must  not 
grow  too  serious  and  tragic,  or,  tamely  common-place. 
It  is  better  to  be  the  butterfly  of  a  brief,  bright  summer 
than  the  toiling,  unhappy  bee  of  a  dozen  seasons." 

To  which  Zarina,  shaking  her  jeweled  hand  at  him 
warninigly,  replied :  "  Butterflies  we  will  be,  then,  count ; 
anp  we  must  have  a  care  that  we  do  not  singe  our  wings. 
But  we  must  not  tarry  here  too  long.  Au  revoir!" 

In  retracing  her  steps  to  the  drawing-room,  Zarina 


10S  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

paused  a  moment  by  the  fountain  in  the  conservatory  to 
arrange  her  hair.  While  engaged  in  this  graceful  task, 
M.  Legrand  stepped  out  suddenly  from  the  shadow  of  a 
mighty  cactus  in  crimson  flower,  and  grasped  her  arm 
with  cruel  force.  The  man  was  utterly  hideous  with 
jealous  rage,  and  his  eyes  flashed  daggers  — 

"  At  it  again,  hussey !  By  the  grave  of  my  mother! 
you  shall  repent  this  one  day !  I  have  raised  you  to  a 
giddy  height,  vile  danseuse,  but  the  descent  is  greater 
and  the  rocks  below  have  fangs  like  lions!  Tell  me, 
viper  that  I  have  nursed !  do  you  think  to  baffle  and  ruin 
your  benefactor,  and  yet  walk  this  horrible  precipice  in 
safety?" 

"Ha!  ha!"  she  laughed,  with  a  scornful  curve  of  her 
fine  lip  and  a  murderous  flash  of  her  eye,  "you  appear 
to  great  advantage,  to-night,  monsieur  —  never  better 
that  I  remember,  except,  may  be,  the  figure  you  made 
during  the  storm  at  sea.  There  is  a  royal  magnificence 
in  your  carriage  that  overpowers  me.  You  must  be  in 
spired  by  wine  as  dry  and  old  as  the  mummies  of  Egvpt. 
Come,  name  the  brand  of  your  god-like  tipple  that  I 
may  instantly  shout  its  fame!" 

"  Hear  me,  harlot ! "  he  hissed  with  awful  fury,  "  you 
have  made  me  desperate  and  this  masquerade  shall  end. 
This  very  night  I  shall  expose  you  to  madame,  and  then 
you  may  pirouette  down  stairs,  the  laughing  stock  of  all 
you  have  deceived,  and  exchange  these  diamonds  for  the 
tawdry  spangles  that  better  become  your  flimsy  and  false 
character." 

She  felt  that  she  had  gone  too  far,  ^nd  hastened  to  re 
pair  her  error, 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  109 

"  It  is  you,"  she  said,  "  who  are  threatening  us  both  with 
destruction.  You  spring  upon  me  like  a  wild  beast,  and 
shriek  curses  at  me  like  a  madman.  I  declare  that  I  am 
true  to  you,  and  that  you  alone  hold  possession  of  my 
heart.  Your  jealousy  would  be  simply  absurd  were  it 
not  so  criminally  savage.  I  walked  a  moment  on  the 
balcony  with  that  monkey  of  a  count,  exchanging  the 
airiest  nothings  of  small  talk,  and,  lo  !  what  a  scene  my 
lord  and  master  makes  of  it !  Ah,  husband  dear,  let  us 
have  faith  in  each  other,  and  cease  these  wretched 
wranglings  !" 

Her  voice  was  mellow  with  increasing  tenderness,  and 
the  title  of  "  husband  "  she  had  so  softly  spoken,  crushed 
the  uxorious  villain  into  helpless  pulp  at  once. 

"  Then,  my  dear,"  he  said,  twining  his  arm  about  her 
waist,  "  why  do  you  annoy  me  and  hazard  our  happiness 
by  your  idle  flirtations  ?  You  must  know  how  the  world 
regards  the  appearance  of  evil  you  seem  to  court,  and 
that  it  is  never  too  charitable  in  its  constructions.  You 
must  not  expect  me  to  stand  by  submissively  and  see  my 
wife  metaphorically,  if  not  physically,  in  the  arms  of  a 
libertine.  But  I  shall  trust  you  again,  and  sincerely  hope 
that  you  will  be  more  considerate  of  my  feelings  than 
heretofore." 

She  promised  to  be  his  slave  in  everything,  and  they 
were  reconciled,  as  before,  with  a  sickly  plentitude  of 
lip-service. 

The  dancing  soon  ceased,  and  the  weary  guests  de 
parted.  The  Clifford  mansion  was  soon  in  darkness, 
with  the  exception  of  a  single  curtained  light  in  an  up 
per  window.  For  a  moment  an  outside  observer  might 


110 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 


have  seen  a  shadow  on  that  curtained  window — that  of 
a  contemplative  female  in  partial  undress,  with  her  arm 
extended  towards  the  light.  Zarina  was  counting  the 
blood-red  drops  remaining  in  the  quaint  little  phial. 

"  There  is  enough  for  two,"  she  said,  "  and  my  tigerish 
monsieur  shall  be  generously  served  !" 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

'HILE    all    these    things   were   happening    to 
Echo,   Arthur,  toiling    away  assiduously    at 
his  profession  in  the  northern  city,  was  wholly 
in  the  dark  as  to  the  conspiracy  by  which  he 
had  been  despoiled  of  his  treasure. 

Our  griefs  and  joys,  and  not  our  years,  mark  the  flow 
of  life  on  the  sensitive  dial  of  the  soul.  A  great  change 
had  come  over  Arthur  Hoberg,  but  it  was  more  felt  and 
seen  by  his  friends,  than  understood. 

A  cankering  grief  in  a  man  is  ordinarily  attributed  to 
business  cares;  the  same  in  a  woman,  to  some  physical 
derangement.  A  face  may,  or  may  not,  reflect  the  dis 
turbance  of  the  heart.  Then,  we  pay  so  little  attention  to 
these  things.  We  never  seem  to  know,  or  cease  to  re 
member,  that  every  life  has  its  own  crosses — every  soul 
its  special  burdens.  As  we  weep  by  the  graves  of  loved 
ones,  friends  group  about  us  and  sustain  lis  with  their 
sympathy;  but  to  the  secret  sepulchres  of  the  heart,  we 
steal  in  silence  and  alone.  Optimism  is  an  amiable  mood 
of  mind  when  entertained  in  a  hazy,  impersonal  way,  but 
is  nauseous  enough,  sometimes,  when  individually  ap 
plied.  The  broad  humor  of  Artemas  Ward's  readiness 
to  sacrifice  all  his  wife's  relatives  in  the  war,  has  the 
flavor  of  a  pungent  truth.  That  Job's  friends  bore  his 
eruptive  afflictions  with  neighborly  equanimity,  there  can 


112  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

be  no  doubt.  There  is  really  little  vicarious  suffering  in 
the  world,  notwithstanding  the  divine  example.  We 
cannot  become  thoroughly  en  rapport  with  the  suffer 
ings  of  others.  It  is  a  blessing  that  it  is  so,  else  our 
hearts  would  break  with  one  mighty  throb  of  sym 
pathetic  pain,  and  there  would  be  an  end. 

"  What  in  the  world  can  possess  you,  Arthur  ?"  im 
patiently  queried  Mary  Hoberg  of  her  brother,  during 
one  of  his  home  visits.  "  In  place  of  our  former  cheerful 
and  chatty  brother,  there  appears  a  grave  and  dignified 
stranger,  wrapped  in  the  solitude  of  his  own  thoughts. 
Are  you  passing  through  the  slow  and  solemn  stages  of 
some  horrible  petrefaction  ?" 

"  If  the  boy  of  yesterday  was  more  attractive  than 
the  man  of  to-day,  sister,  I  am  not  to  blame.  Eternal 
youth  does  not  tangle  itself  in  our  Heart-strings  or  our 
hair.  Then  you  should  know  that  my  mind  is  engrossed 
with  professional  cares,"  he  said,  with  a  grave  smile. 

"  That  plea  of  business  absorption  hardly  deceives  me, 
Arthur;  but  I  think  I  have  the  clew  to  your  secret 
pining."  And  pursing  her  lips  with  ludicrous  affecta 
tion,  she  sang: 

"  It  is,  oh  for  the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand, 
And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that's  away  !" 

"  Asking  Mr.  Tennyson's  pardon  for  improving  upon 
his  verse,  I  think  that  warble  includes  a  complete  diag 
nosis  of  your  case,  brother.  But  come,"  she  continued, 
more  seriously,  "  look  up  and  be  a  man,  Arthur.  You 
simply  made  a  mistake  in  supposing  that  swine  had  a 
relish  for  pearls,  and  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  gather  up 


WHAT   CAME    OF    IT.  113 

your  gems  and  find  better  patrons.  Pshaw,  man  alive, 
the  old  adage  about  the  inexhaustible  number  of  fish  in 
the  sea,  should  be  a  wholesome  panacea  for  the  ills  your 
mind  is  heir  to  !" 

A  woman  can  never  understand  why  a  man.  should 
break  his  heart  for  one  of  her  sex,  and  Mary,  having  de 
livered  her  opinion,  went  on  dusting  the  furniture  as 
though  she  had  crushed  her  brother  with  mighty  bowl 
ders  of  philosophy. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Mary,"  said  Arthur,  with  some 
indignation,  "  have  a  care  !  The  person  to  whom  you 
have  alluded  so  slightingly,  is  the  purest  and  loveliest  of 
her  sex.  I  worship  her  still,  though  hopelessly,  and  can 
not  bear  to  hear  her  traduced  with  such  an  idle  tongue." 

Mary  raised  her  eyebrows  with  deprecatory  surprise 
at  this  outburst,  but  said  nothing.  After  a  pause,  he  re 
sumed,  in  a  cold  tone  : 

"  But,  please  to  remember  that  this  subject  is  very  dis 
agreeable  to  me,  and  not  refer  to  it  again." 

Then,  noting  the  pained  look  in  his  sister's  face,  he 
was  recalled  to  his  better  self,  and  took  her  hand  ten 
derly,  as  he  said  : 

"  Have  not  the  least  anxiety  about  me,  sister,  I  pray 
you.  Some  would  require  probing,  others  simply  to  be 
let  alone."  % 

Placing  her  disengaged  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and 
looking  him  kindly  in  the  eyes,  she  said,  placidly  : 

"  Hereafter  I  shall  endeavor  to  comply  with  your  re 
quest." 

The  family,  with  the  exception  of  Arthur  and  Mary, 
had  gone  to  church.  In  place  of  the  usual  stir  and  hum 


114  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

of  voices,  a  solemn  stillness  reigned  in  the  vacant  rooms. 
Brother  and  sister,  sitting  side  by  side  in  the  gloom  of 
the  evening,  wandered  apart  in  their  silent  reveries.  It 
was  that  witching  hour  which  gilds  the  royal  castles  of 
the  imagination  with  supernal  beauty.  The  summer 
moon,  rising  in  full-orbed  radiance,  poured  its  silver 
splendor  through  the  room,  and  the  atmosphere  was 
voluptuous  with  the  scent  of  roses. 

Mary's  hands  were  clasped  upon  her  lap,  and  she  had  a 
rapt  and  far-away  look,  while  the  expression  of  her  face 
and  the  repose  of  her  rounded  figure,  invited  the  thought 
that  she  was  spiritually  conversing  with  some  invisible 
presence  from  the  Fifth  Heaven  of  the  Midrash,  the 
felicitous  queendom  of  "  Gan  Eden,"  where  the  daughter 
of  Pharaoh  wields  the  scepter  over  the  fairest  and  purest 
of  her  angelic  sex. 

Of  what  was  Mary  thinking  ?  She  was  thinking- — 
whisper  it  softly,  reader,  mine  !— which  one  of  her  sev 
eral  dresses  she  should  wear  to  the  pic-nic  that  was  to 
be  held  in  the  parsonage  grove  on  the  morrow,  and  the 
style  of  toilet  that  would  best  become  her  on  that  im 
portant  occasion. 

Arthur,  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts,  was  soon  obli 
vious  to  the  presence  of  another,  and  murmured  his  so 
liloquies  aloud  :  * 

"Ah,"  he  sighed,  "what  a  delicious  agony  is  love  !  I 
offer  homage  at  another  shrine  ?  Never  1  As  the  orders 
of  flowers  are  printed  on  their  leaves,  so  the  glorious 
lineaments  of  her  beauty  are  limned  upon  the  sacred  tab 
lets  of  my  heart.  O,  the  violet  perfume  of  her  breath  ! 
the  heavenly  bloom  of  her  cheeks  and  lips  !  her  hair  sun- 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  IlJ 

dyed,  to  ensnare  the  love  of  men  !  and  her  eyes,  lumi 
nous  as  the  purple  stars  of  the  highest  heaven  !  And 
what  a  dream  of  bliss  was  ours  !  We  were  alone  upon 
the  broad,  blushing  sea  of  illimitable  tenderness — the 
liquid  eternity  of  souls  divinely  dissolved  and  flowing 
together.  But,  and  by  Heaven,  there  is  madness  in  the 
thought ! — she  may  at  this  moment  be  reclining  in  the 
embraces  of  another  !" . 

"No,1"  he  resumed,  after  a  moment  of  silent  torture, 
"  I  shall  yet  believe  her  to  be  true  and  pure.  Why,  we 
should  have  been  married  before  this,  and  had  raised  such 
an  altar  of  blessed  domesticity  as  had  propitiated  the 
favor  of  Heaven  !" 

And  while  Arthur  wanders  abroad  in  delightful  fan 
cies  of  the  home  that  might  have  been,  let  us  stand  apart 
and  consider  the  tender  subject  he  has  suggested. 

The  tendencies  of  this  age  are  against  the  sanctity  of 
the  marriage  relation.  The  theory  of  the  law  which 
treats  the  hymeneal  bond  as  a  civil  contract  merely,  has 
been  literally  adopted  by  the  masses,  with  disastrous  con 
sequences.  It  is  in  reality  a  spiritual,  as  well  as  physical 
union,  and  should  be  a  sacrament  of  the  church,  more 
than  a  contract,  between  tiresome  parties  of  the  first  and 
second  part,  of  which  the  courts  have  exclusive  cog 
nizance.  Marriage  is  the  fulcrum  of  moral  progress,  the 
fountain  of  social  happiness  and  domestic  joy. 

The  young  man  or  woman,  who,  in  mentally  ro 
mancing  along  the  misted  future,  sees  no  domestic  shrine 
shining  its  welcome  for  the  aspiring  soul,  is  hopeless  of 
earth  and  heaven.  Courtship  is  the  golden  way  that 
leads  to  this  shrine,  and  the  delirious  rhapsodies  of  love 


n6  WHAT  CAME  OF  IT. 

the  roses  that  arch  oy^er  its  lustrous  portal,  so  that  we 
must  be  patient  with  the  ravings  of  Arthur. 

"Good  gracious,  brother,  we  must  both  be  moon 
struck  !"  said  Mary,  starting  up  suddenly,  when  Arthur 
had  made  a  pause  in  what  she  mentally  termed  his  de 
lectable  rant.  "  Come  to  the  piano,  and  lend  your  as 
sistance  as  accessory  before  the  fact,  while  I  render  the 
4  Moonlight  Sonata.' " 

He  followed  her  languidly  into  the  drawing-room,  and 
soon  the  immortal  melody  of  Beethoven  was  flowing  into 
the  silvery  dream  of  the  pale  planet  like  a  living  soul. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

CHO  seems  to  be  still  infatuated  with  her  strange 
little  protege,"  remarked  Aunt  Newbury  to 
Mr.  Farrish,  one  day,  "and,"  she  continued 
y  with  a  smile,  "  I  never  see  her  with  the  child 
upon  her  lap  that  I  am  not  reminded  of  a  little  girl  with 
her  first  rag  baby."  , 

"  Ah,"  responded  he,  "  I  shall  never  forget  how,  once 
upon  a  time,  while  wandering  about  in  a  volcanic  region, 
I  was  greatly  refreshed  by  the  beauty  of  a  little  flower 
which  grew  upon  the  side  of  an  extinct  crater.  The 
simplicity  and  loveliness  of  the  lone  little  virgin  in  the 
midst  of  that  awful  desolation  where  the  giant  forces  of 
nature  had  torn  and  hurled  the  earth  in  a  carnival  of 
madness,  impressed  me  delightfully.  If  a  tiny  floweret, 
one  touch  of  grace  and  tenderness,  in  that  sepulchre  of 
dead  horrors,  could  thus  instruct  and  please  a  languid 
traveler,  it  is  not  strange  that  the  young  lady  should  find 
nourishment  and  pleasure  in  the  contemplation  of  the 
human  gem  she  has  rescued  from  the  volcanic  ruin  of  a 
wicked  and  wasted  home." 

Somehow,  by  these  remarks,  the  contrast  of  human 
lots  was  suggested  to  Aunt  Newbury,  and  she  was 
moved  to  ask  — "  Do  you  really  believe,  Mr.  Farrish, 
that  all  men  are  born  free  and  equal,  as  the  Declaration 
has  it?" 


llS  WHAT   CAME   OF   IT. 

"No,  indeed!"  was  the  somewhat  emphatic  reply. 
u  The  idea  is  absurd  in  any  other  than  the  mere  political 
sense  in  which  Jefferson  used  it ;  and,  even  then,  there 
are  limitations  and  exceptions.  Can  one,  for  instance, 
conceived  by  ignorant  and  vicious  parents,  brought  forth 
in  squalor,  and  misled  in  shame  and  crime,  have  any  sort 
of  equality  with  one  whose  veins  flow  with  pure  blood, 
over  whose  cradle  arches  the  rainbow  of  love,  whose 
youth  blossoms  in  the  sunshine  of  plenty,  and  is  strength 
ened  and  adorned  by  lavish  culture  —  one,  in  fact,  who 
enters  life  through  golden  gates  and  is  forever  girdled 
by  the  saving  memories  and  influences  of  a  fortunate 
Christian  home  ?  The  parable  of  the  sower  is  timely  in 
this  connection.  There  is,  in  human  growth,  stony  and 
blighted  soil  which  can  produce  nothing  good.  Blood 
that  is  clotted  with  hereditary  impurities  bears  in  it  the 
seeds  of  death.  It  is  the  natural  result  of  original  sin; 
the  angry  ripples  of  Adam's  fall  widen  and  widen  across 
the  restless  sea  of  human  life." 

"Yes,  but  I  cannot  agree  with  you  unreservedly. 
Circumstances  are  powerful,  but  not  despotic,  in  mould 
ing  our  destinies.  Many  of  the  kings  of  intellectual 
achievement  sprang  from  the  low  and  sunless  vales  of 
life.  The  roll  of  the  world's  great  men  glitters  with 
such  instances.  It  was  to  all  men,  and  no  special  caste, 
that  Longfellow  sang  — 

'Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 
We  can  make  our  lives  sublime.' 

I  am  afraid  that  your  doctrine,  fully  accepted,  is  edged 
with  a  cruel  fatalism." 


WHAT    CAME    OP   IT.  1 19 

*4  You  seem  to  forget,  madam,"  he  rejoined  in  a  banter 
ing  tone,  "that  the  biographers  of  men  who  have  risen 
from  poverty  and  obscurity  invariably  remark  that  'he 
was  born  of  poor  but  respectable  parents.'  There's 
the  rub.  Honest  poverty  impedes,  and  vicious  poverty 
destroys.  Plant  a  germ  and" cover  it  with  a  paving  stone, 
and  you  will  find  its  growth  distorted  or  destroyed. 
The  street  gamin  ripens,  but  it  is  oftener  for  the  gallows 
than  the  senate." 

"  It  is  a  deep  question,  and  difficulties  involve  it  on  all 
sides,  I  grant,"  said  Aunt  Newbury ;  "  but  the  school  of 
experience  has  taught  me  to  believe  in  the  equality  of 
childhood.  The  character  of  a  child  is  clay  in  the 
potter's  hand  and  takes  shape  according  to  the  will  and 
skill  of  the  moulder." 

"  But  there  is  a  difference  of  material,  madam.  You 
cannot  make  a  porcelain  vase  from  a  lump  of  ordinary 
mud.  I  would  not  go  to  a  tailor  with  a  number  of  yards 
of  shoddy  cassimere  and  expect  therefrom  a  broadcloth 
suit.  "Like  produces  like  everywhere  and  always." 

"  Do  you  sink  back  then,  my  dear  sir,  on  the  velvet 
cushion  of  your  natural  caste  theory  and  have  no  word 
of  sympathy  and  encouragement  for  those  struggling  in 
darkness  under  the  pressure  of  evil  fates?" 

"  I  simply  recognize  facts  as  they  exist.  Encourage 
ment  and  sympathy  to  those  born  with  a  blight  I  would 
give  freely;  but  I  should  expect  my  sympathy,  in  most 
cases,  to  be  despised  and  my  encouragement  thrown 
away.  You  can  build  a  pretty  good  ship  with  faulty 
timber,  but  it  were  infinitely  preferable  for  the  material 
to  be  without  a  flaw." 


120  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

Aunt  Newbury  did  not  respond  immediately,  and  he 
resumed  — 

"  I  acknowledge,  too,  that  there  are  men  who  conquer 
circumstances.  There  are  two  great  classes  of  men  — 
the  positive  and  negative  —  force  and  inertia.  Positive 
men  achieve  the  world's  great  victories  and  commit  its 
wildest  crimes.  Negative  men  simply  stagnate  and 
breed  malaria.  The  former  may  conquer  circumstances, 
the  latter  are  enslaved  and  destroyed." 

At  this  juncture,  little  Wistit,  who  had  been  sitting 
quietly  in  a  chair  by  the  window,  sprang  to  her  feet  with 
a  scream  and  ran  into  the  hall-way. 

"What  has  excited  the  child?"  asked  Mr.  Farrish,  as 
he  turned  a  surprised  look  towards  Aunt  Newbury. 

"  She  has  probably  caught  a  glimpe  of  Echo.  The 
little  thing  is  extravagantly  fond  of  her  protector,  and 
it  does  her  credit." 

Holding  Echo's  hand,  and  frisking  at  her  side  with 
extravagant  delight,  Wistit  exclaimed,  pointing  towards 
the  house  —  "  You  doesn't  know  who's  in  there  ?  " 

"No,  darling;  but  you  must  tell  me  —  "Who  is  it?" 

"Guess!" 

Echo  named  over  several  of  the  neighbors,  but  Wistit 
shook  her  head  negatively. 

"  Guess  more." 

"Who  can  it  be?"  said  Echo,  musing,  with  mock 
gravity.  "  Come,  Wistit,  you  must  tell  me." 

"  It  is  Mr.  Bon-bons,"  exclaimed  Wistit  in  triumph. 

"  Hush,  dear,"  interposed  Echo,  unable  to  restrain  her 
mirth  at  the  suggestive  appellation;  "  Mr.  Farrish  might 
object  to  that  name,  sweet  as  it  is." 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  121 

Flushed  with  her  walk,  her  eyes  luminous  with  a  deep 
splendor,  Echo  was  dangerously  beautiful  as  she  entered 
the  room  and  greeted  the  visitor  pleasantly. 

The  gentleman  felt  his  heart  dilate  painfully  in  the 
glow  of  her  surpassing  loveliness,  and  returned  her  easy 
vsalutation  with  a  perceptible  trace  of  confusion. 

'•  Your  sister,"  he  remarked  to  Aunt  Newbury,  when 
the  other  had  passed  from  the  room,  seems  to  have  rap 
idly  recovered  her  health." 

The  sisterly  relation,  be  it  understood,  was  a  mild 
fraud  in  which  Mr.  Farrish  had  been  allowed  to  entangle 
himself. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Aunt  Newbury,  "  I  do  not  remember 
to  have  seen  her  looking  better.  Tedious  work  seems 
to  have  done  her  good  instead  of  harm.  In  fact,  few  of 
us  realize  the  benefit  we  derive  from  the  steady,  but  not 
strained  use  of  brain  and  muscle.  Echo,  however,  I 
fear  is  too  ardent  a  devotee  at  the  shrine  of  duty." 

"  I  obtained  two  more  pupils  to-day,  sister,"  said  the 
young  lady  in  question,  returning  from  the  removal  of 
her  outer  wraps.  "These  make  ten  additions  since 
Wistit  came  to  us  —  thirty-five  in  all.  If  business  keeps 
increasing  at  this  rate  we  shall  be  able  to  support  our 
third  estate  handsomely  "  —  and  she  smiled  indulgently 
upon  Wistit. 

"Ah,  hopefulness  is  a  glorious  attribute  of  youth!" 
exclaimed  Aunt  Newbury. 

"And  most  glorious  when  altogether  unselfish,"  in 
terposed  the  gentleman,  with  an  admiring  look  at  a  por 
trait  of  President  Lincoln  which  was  suspended  from 
the  wall  above  the  mantel. 


122  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

"  Life  is  too  short  and  our  capacities  too  limited  for 
the  accomplishment  of  much  good,"  said  Echo  with  a 
sigh.  "  I  wish  that  I  were  able  to  found  and  endow  a 
school  where  children  of  both  sexes,  gamins  in  the  so 
cial  scale,  could  be  cleaned,  clothed,  fed  and  educated 
practically  for  future  usefulness." 

"  The  splendid  philanthropy  of  such  a  scheme  would 
be  its  only  reward,  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Farrish.  "  The 
traditional  needle  that  was  lost  in  a  haystack  may  have 
been,  or  will  yet  be,  recovered,  but  in  the  soiled  chaff  of 
the  streets  you  will  not  find  many  grains  of  valuable  hu 
manity  for  all  your  winnowing.  If  I  desired  to  leave 
the  imprint  of  my  benevolence  on  human  coin,  I  should 
not  select  the  baser  metals  for  an  experiment." 

"  I  differ  with  you  entirely,"  said  Echo.  "  Humanity 
is  sui  generis,  and  not  to  be  compared  with  material 
things.  Following  the  divine  example  we  should  all, 
each  in  his  degree,  strive  to  elevate  and  redeem  the  race. 
That  we  occupy  higher  ground  and  have  a  stronger  foot 
hold  constitutes  a  sufficient  reason  for  our  extending  all 
the  assistance  in  our  power  to  those  who  struggle  in  the 
darkness  and  debris  of  the  ascent  of  life.  The  advent 
of  Christ  not  only  proved  the  necessity  of  redemption  — 
it  was  the  golden  text  of  brotherly  love,  mutual  aid,  and 
eternal  charity.  The  Christian  who,  intent  upon  his  in 
dividual  salvation,  appears  with  confidence  at  the  throne 
of  judgment,  will,  like  Cain,  of  old,  be  met  with  the 
startling  interrogatory  — '  Where  is  thy  brother  ? ' ' 

"  Grandly  true,  and  as  eloquent  as  true,"  replied  he ; 
"  and  yet  the  human  heart  longs  for  human  appreciation. 
If  the  government  were,  however,  to  found,  liberally 


WHAT   CAME    OF    IT.  123 

endow,  and  sustain  such  a  school,  compelling  the  attend 
ance  of  uncared-for  children,  the  lower  classes  would 
regard  it  as  an  odious  tyranny." 

"  May  be ;  but  it  would  seem  that  a  government  which 
is  founded  on  the  theory  that  all  men  are  created  free 
and  equal,  might  esteem  it  a  duty  to  keep  them  so.  It 
will  have  to  do  so,  finally,  for  self-protection." 

"  Well,  Miss  Newbury,  I  confess  that  you  have  taken 
the  very  Redan  of  my  position,  and,  if  you  will  allow 
me,  will  retreat  with  the  honors  of  war." 

Echo  laughingly  bade  him  retain  his  reversed  sword; 
and  the  overthrown  Russ  sauntered  away  towards  North 
Beach,  ostensibly  to  look  at  the  parrots  and  monkeys, 
but  really  to  dream  dreams. 

Echo  taught  Wistit  to  make  original  prayers,  instead 
of  repeating  a  stereotyped  formula,  and,  as  they  kneeled 
together  by  the  bedside  that  night,  said  —  "  Now,  Wistit, 
ask  the  good  Lord  for  what  you  want." 

The  little  hands  were  clasped,  and  this  unique  petition 
ascended  to  the  Throne: 

"  I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take  —  and  bring  Mr. 
Bon-bons,  too  —  and  I  pray  the  Lord  to  make  mamma 
Newbury  a  new  back,  and  good,  pretty  Echo,  every 
thing  she  wants.  Amen!" 

For  the  information  of  the  reader  it  may  be  remarked 
that  Aunt  Newbury,  poor  woman !  often  complained  of 
a  demoralized  and  painful  spine. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

O  sooner  do  the  skies  which  stoop  over  our  in 
dividual  worlds  begin  to  frown,  than  time  lags 
heavily  and  the  spirit  droops.  With  hues  bor 
rowed  from  the  gloom  of  the  present,  our 
thoughts  duskily  tincture  the  future,  and  all  things,  ma 
terial  and  mental,  loom  in  sombre  perspective.  All  the 
world  outside  may  be  bright,  but  if  a  shadow  rest  on  the 
horizon  of  our  own  little  cosmos,  the  sun  no  where  shines, 
and  darkness  covers  all.  Human  atoms  cannot  recogViize 
the  true  insignificance  of  their  microscopic  areas  in  the 
immensity  of  creation,  else  a  sublime  stoicism  would  reign 
in  the  hearts  of  men,  and  the  pigmy  millions  of  earth 
would  move  placidly  in  the  mighty  progress  of  destiny. 
There  must  be  lights  and  shadows  in  the  eternal  pano 
rama  of  life,  and  the  soul  should  not  repine  because  its 
horoscope  is  gloomed  by  the  umbrae  of  the  planets  that 
wait  upon  its  terrestrial  advent. 

To  Pierre  Legrand,  who  sat  watching  the  mournful 
drip  and  drizzle  of  the  rain,  the  present  and  the  future 
were  obscured  in  funeral  clouds.  "  How  greedily  does 
the  insatiate  earth  drink  the  rain  !"  he  murmured,  as  he 
tossed  his  half-consumed  cigar  through  the  window. 
"  Parbleu  !  it  might  be  satisfied  with  its  pluvial  Heid- 
sick,  and  not  be  forever  extending  its  mouldy  arms  to 
embrace  its  prodigal  sons  !" 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  125 

When  death,  however  lightly,  touches  the  chords  of 
life,  the  sorrowful  minor  tone  is  at  once  recognizable, 
with  a  thrill  of  secret  dread,  and  the  pallid  hues  of  the 
pale  horseman  are  imparted  to  all  our  thoughts.  These 
are  the  times  when,  like  the  ever  tender  and  musical  Hood, 
we  smell  the  mould  above  the  rose. 

Lady  Clifford  having  gone  out  upon  an  errand  of 
mercy  to  a  poor  pensioner,  Legrand  was  temporarily  the 
autocrat  of  the  family  mansion.  Wandering  discon 
solately  into  the  drawing-room,  he  sat  down  by  the  piano 
and  began  listlessly  turning  over  some  pieces  of  new 
music.  There  was  a  strange  shadow  of  fear,  suspicion 
and  anxiety  in  his  sunken  eyes,  and  a  ghastly  pallor  over 
spread  his  face.  "  Mon  dieu  /"  he  murmured,  "  how 
gay  these  authors  of  music  are  !  Peste  !  laughter  and 
music  seem  to  have  died  out  of  this  life  of  mine  !" 

While  these  unhappy  meditations  were  occupying  the 
mind  of  the  schemer,  Zarina,  bright  with  the  glow  of 
her  animal  beauty  and  the  adventitious  aid  of  fine  attire, 
came  rustling  into  the  room,  and,  folding  her  arms  softly 
about  his  neck,  gave  him  a  gracious  salute. 

A  faint  tingle  of  pleasure  was  communicated  to  his 
veins  by  this  airy  trifle,  but  his  solemnity  was  not  dis 
pelled,  and  he  said,  reproachfully : 

"We  cannot  live  on  kisses,  Zarina;  the  little  phial 
lasts  too  long,  and  madame  seems  actually  to  be  im 
proving  in  health  !" 

"  I  am  not  in  fault,  monsieur,"  replied  Zarina,  in  a  low 
tone ;  "  Ninee  haunts  me  like  a  specti;e,  and  I  find  little 
opportunity  to  administer  the  drops  as  you  directed  witru 
put  the  peril  of  discovery.  The  old  woman  is  Argus 


126  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

eyed,  and  never  seems  to  relax  her  watchfulness.  Some 
times  I  fear  that  she  suspects  me,  but  surely  that  cannot 
be  after  all  the  precautions  I  have  taken.  Then 
madame,  as  you  know,  is  under  the  care  of  a  physician, 
and  it  is  just  possible  that  she  may  have  blundered  upon 
a  panacea  for  the  ill  that  threatens  her." 

"  Time  drags  horribly,"  replied  he,  in  a  complaining 
tone,  "  and  I  am  wearing  out  in  the  struggle.  Peste ! 
the  poison  seems  to  be  settling  in  my  heart,  instead 
of  hers!" 

"  Believe  me,  monsieur,  we  cannot  be  baffled  long. 
Like  desperate  commanders,  we  have  destroyed  the 
bridges  behind  us,  and  must  win  or  die.  I  pledge  you 
that  the  apparent  health  which  seems  just  now  to  mantle 
in  the  cheeks  of  madame,  shall  prove  to  be  the  hectic 
flush  of  approaching  death  !" 

"  And  yet,  my  dear  Zarina,  the  slow  and  heavy  wheels 
of  time  are  grinding  me  to  death  upon  the  rocks  of  this 
torturing  suspense.  The  quick  stroke  of  a  Corsican 
stiletto  is  the  way  to  remove  obstacles,  after  all.  I  am 
courageous  enough  for  sudden  deeds,  but  this  slow, 
snake-like  coiling  about  one's  victim  is  maddening.  The 
deadly  aroma  of  crape  is  continually  in  my  nostrils,  and 
my  very  soul  is  shaken  with  strange  alarms."  Legrand 
passed  his  hand  across  his  clammy  brow,  and  was  awfully 
in  earnest. 

"  Fie,  fie,  monsieur,  your  digestion  is  out  of  order  ! 
You  remind  me  of  a  spider,  which  gathers  poison  from 
the  same  flowers  which  have  loaded  the  bee  with  honey. 
Where  is  the  Latin  maxim  you  used  to  quote  to  me  ?-— 


WHAT   CAME    OF    IT.  1 27 

Dum  vivimus,  vivamus  !  Have  you  lost  the  inspiration 
of  that  joyful  motto  ? " 

"The  only  thing  Roman  that  can  do  me  any  good 
now,  is  a  priest.  Sometimes  I  have  been  almost  driven 
to  try  the  exorcism  of  a  confession." 

"  Heavens,  monsieur  !"  exclaimed  Zarina,  really  fright 
ened  at  the  dire  possibility  of  such  madness.  "Your 
womanish  hypochondria  may  ruin  us  yet !  Come,  there 
is  another  life  than  ours  at  stake  now.  Shall  I  tell  you 
a  secret  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  passively,  and  she  stooped  and  whis 
pered  something  in  his  ear. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  holy  saints  !"  he  cried,  starting 
up  in  agitated  surprise.  "I  had  not  thought  of  that, 
Zarina,"  he  continued,  in  a  lower  tone,  while  a  strange, 
softening  light  broke  over  his  sinister  face ;  "  we  must  be 
true  to  each  other  now.  By  heaven  !  it  is  something  to 
live  for  and  to  suffer  for,  and  it  will  propitiate  the  terri 
ble  fates  !" 

It  is  thus  that  the  instinct  of  paternity  ennobles  the 
wickedest  of  men. 

"  Then  let  us  swear,"  she  said,  impressively,  lifting  a 
small  gold  crucifix  which  was  suspended  upon  a  beauti 
ful  chain  that  encircled  her  neck ;  "  let  us  swear  by  the 
sacred  cross  of  Christ  and  the  living  pledge  of  our  union, 
that  we  will  have  no  confessions,  no  relentings,  no  cow 
ardly  shambling  and  shuffling  in  the  path  that  leads  us 
inevitably  to  prosperity,  and  that  we  will  steadfastly 
abide  by  the  decision  we  have  made,  come  what  may  !" 

"  I  swear,"  he  said,  solemnly,  and  kissed  the  potent 


128  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

"And  I  swear,"  she  said,  kissing  the  cross  in  her 
turn. 

Then  disengaging  the  chain  from  her  own  neck,  she 
clasped  it  around  his,  saying  : 

"  Wear  it  as  a  memento — a  talisman  powerful  against 
all  devils,  blue  or  black  !" 

"  And  you  will  discard  the  Count  ?"  he  said,  with  a 
slight  lowering  of  the  brow. 

"He  is  not  mine,  in  any  sense,  to  discard,"  she  an 
swered,  simply;  "but  I  promise  that  even  his  silly  atten 
tions,  since  they  give  you  pain,  shall  be  put  to  flight." 

"Now  swear  again,  Zarina,"  he  said,  playfully,  ex 
tending  his  arms ;  "  swear  that  you  love  me." 

"Joyfully,  pierre,"  she  answered,  meeting  his  embrace; 
"  and  seal  my  oath  with  kisses." 

To  have  maintained  the  unities  of  truth  and  dramatic 
propriety,  Judas  should  have  been  a  woman.  The  cold, 
calm,  lustrous,  serpentine  coils  of  female  treachery,  pale 
the  puny  efforts  of  man,  in  that  direction,  to  immeasur 
able  insignificance. 

While  patiently  submitting  to  the  prolonged  manipu 
lations  of  the  maid,  who  was  dressing  her  hair,  Zarina 
revolved  the  incidents  of  the  recent  interview  in  her 
mind,  smiling  placidly  at  the  recollection  of  her  absolute 
victory  in  a  crisis  of  great  danger. 

There  was  Pierre,  a  strong  man — a  wicked,  scheming 
man — and  an  acute  lawyer,  besides,  completely  pros 
trated  and  pressed  to  earth,  figuratively,  by  a  single 
flourish  of  her  rosy  little  thumb  !  She  was  completely 
fascinated  with  the  thought  of  her  power  over  him,  and 
resolved  to  play  with  the  poor  man's  life  mockingly,  as 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  I2(> 

a  cat  plays  with  the  mouse  she  will  presently  consume. 
Nature  and  education  had  combined  to  make  the  ex- 
danseuse  a  fascinating  fiend.  Vain,  selfish,  completely 
imbued  with  the  ideas  of  a  coarse  materialism,  and  in 
flamed  with  lawless  passions,  she  was  as  cunning  and 
false  as  hell  itself. 

As  for  Legrand,  he  soon  sought  the  privacy  of  his  own 
apartment,  and,  leaning  abstractedly  against  the  antique 
mantel,  gazed  down  at  the  glowing  grate.  He  was- 
not  in  good  spirits,  even  yet.  Perhaps  the  red  coals  re 
minded  him  of  the  lurid  Gehenna  which  must  some 
times  vex  the  reveries  of  wicked  men.  Perhaps  the  dis 
solving  embers  suggested  a  solemn  phrase:  "Dust  to 
dust,  and  ashes  to  ashes  !" 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

'ONSIEUR.  Legrand  could  scarcely  conceal  his 
satisfaction,  the  following  morning,  on  entering 
the  breakfast  room,  when  he  observed  upon 
the  face  of  Lady  Clifford  the  unmistakable 
signs  of  some  serious  bodily  ailment;  but  he,  neverthe 
less,  in  a  voice  of  silken  placidity,  inquired  after  her 
health. 

"With  many  thanks  for  your  solicitude,  monsieur," 
the  lady  answered,  "  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  my  exer 
tions  of  yesterday  are  followed  by  considerable  indispo 
sition.  The  most  relishable  viands  will  hardly  tempt  me 
this  morning,  but  it  is  only  a  temporary  lassitude,  I  trust, 
and  will  doubtless  disappear  in  the  course  of  the  day. 
I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  are  looking  brighter  than  usual 
of  late." 

"  My  mercurial  temperment,  madame,  borrows  its 
tone  from  the  loveliness  of  the  morning,  but  will  now 
be  overclouded  again  from  sympathy  with  your  unhappy 
depression." 

"Dear  me,  mamma,"  said  Zarina,  seating  herself  at 
the  table  with  an  indolent  yawn ;  "  What  can  be  the 
matter  with  the  noble  house  of  Clifford  this  morning? 
Here  am  I  regretting  that  I  deserted  my  pillow,  and,  a 
more  serious  affair,  I  notice  that  you  are  very  pale  and 
apparently  out  of  spirits.  As  for  monsieur  here  —  good 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  131 

morning,  M.  Legrand!  he  is  never  out  of  spirits,  until 
the  bottle  is  empty.  And  then  you  have  the  advantage 
of  most  men,  and  nearly  all  women,  monsieur,"  regard 
ing  that  individual  peculiarly,  "  in  possessing  that  quiet 
•  conscience  which  is  said  to  be  friendly  to  refreshing 
slumber  and  the  artless  rouge  of  eternal  youth." 

"You  are  delightfully  facetious,  mademoiselle,"  he 
answered.  "  Such  excellent  humor,  however  forced, 
must  inevitably  restore  the  gay  elasticity  of  your  spirits 
and  sympathetically  animate  the  entire  household  with 
its  more  than  Cliquot  sparkle." 

"  And  yet  you  would  doubtless  prefer  the  c  widow ' 
herself,  eh,  monsieur  ? "  said  the  young  lady,  carving  a 
broiled  breast  of  pheasant  with  surgical  skill. 

"Not  at  all,  mademoiselle  Echo;  this  is  one  of  those 
unusual  cases  in  which  the  shadow  is  sweeter  than  the 
substance." 

"  Spoken  like  'a  courtier,  monsieur,  who  is  always 
ready  to  do  homage  to  the  reigning  sovereign.  Were  I 
absent,  and  the  veritable  Cliquot  before  you  —  ah,  well, 
it  may  be  true  that  familiarity  breeds  contempt,  but  it 
must  still  be  said  that  absence  is  the  mother  of  treason 
and  forgetfulness." 

"  It  is  the  beginning  of  a  superior  day,"  said  Lady 
Clifford,  who  had  taken  no  interest  in  this  crisp  dialogue, 
"  and  I  must  invite  you  to  accompany  me  upon  a  matter 
of  business,  to-day,  Echo.  My  attention  was  yesterday 
called  to  a  destitute  family,  consisting  of  a  mother  and 
three  small  children,  all  sick,  which  must  have  immedi 
ate  assistance.  You  will  take  my  place  in  these  matters 
after  a  while,  dear,  and  it  is  well  for  you  to  begin  to  un« 


132  WHAT   CAME    OF    IT. 

derstand  them.     Personal  contact  is  an  admirable  stimu 
lant  to  charitable  feelings."  f 

"  I  am  ready  to  be  sacrificed,  mamma,  on  the  grimy 
altar  of  poor  people's  miseries,"  said  Zarina,  with  a  shrug 
of  her  exquisite  shoulders.  "  Call  the  garbage  cart  and 
let  us  hasten  to  the  scene  of  slaughter." 

"Echo!  daughter!"  exclaimed  the  mother,  reproach 
fully.  "  Your  light  way  of  treating  such  subjects  may 
be  attributed  to  absolute  cruelty  of  disposition.  You 
cannot  feel  so,  I'm  sure." 

"  Your  pardon,  mamma.  I  hardly  knew  what  I  was 
saying.  The  fact  is,  I  was  engrossed  with  the  peculiar 
ity  of  M.  Legrand's  cravat,  which  has  slipped  around 
under  his  left  ear,  like  an  English  hanging  noose." 

Legrand  turned  pale  and  cast  at  her  a  dangerous  look 
as  he  rejoined  —  "It  is  really  suggestive,  mademoiselle. 
Perhaps  I  had  better  anticipate  the  dire  event  by  attend 
ing  the  confessional." 

This  shot  went  home.  A  strange  quiver  passed  over 
Zarina's  face  and  she  confessed  his  victory  by  dropping 
the  subject.  "Shall  we  walk  or  ride?"  she  queried, 
turning  to  her  mother.  "  I  should  prefer  the  former,  for 
the  reason  that  it  is  a  fine  morning  in  which  to  air  my 
new  walking  suit.  I  got  it  home  only  yesterday,  and  it 
is  a  marvel  of  millinery." 

"We  will  walk,  then,"  said  the  mother;  "but  I  should 
advise  you  to  dress  more  in  accordance  with  your  mis 
sion,  my  daughter.  The  contrast  between  our  mission 
and  your  attire  might  suggest  odious  comparisons." 

"  If  agreeable,  I  will  do  myself  the  honor  to  accom 
pany  you  for  a  few  blocks,"  said  M.  Legrand  when  their 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  133 

proposed  route  had  been  suggested,  "  as  I  have  a  little 
business  with  Cruzan,  the  jeweler." 

"  We  shall  be  pleased  with  your  company,"  said  the 
elder  lady. 

In  passing  down  the  stairs  there  was  an  opportunity 
for  a  little  by-play  on  the  part  of  M.  Legrand  and  his 
clandestine  spouse.  "  I  hope  that  you  rested  well  last 
night?"  he  said,  in  a  soft  whisper,  as  he  looked  down 
admiringly  into  the  fair  face  —  fairer  still  for  the  slight 
paleness  that  overspread  it. 

"Well  enough,  my  dear,"  she  answered  —  adding  sig 
nificantly —  "Remember  me  to  the  jeweler,  Cruzan." 

"  Royally,  my  queen." 

"Have  I  kept  you  waiting,  mamma  mine,"  said  Zar- 
ina,  as  they  assembled  in  the  hall. 

"  Not  long,"  was  Lady  Clifford's  reply  as  she  observed, 
without  comment,  the  deprecated  walking  suit  flaunting 
to  the  public  gaze. 

At  a  corner  of  the  street,  not  far  from  home,  the  ladies 
and  their  escort  met  La  Croix  face  to  face.  Legrand 
scowlingly  acknowledged  the  nobleman's  elaborate  bow 
and  pleasant  "  good  morning."  Lady  Clifford  returned 
his  salute  with  easy  courtesy,  but  mademoiselle  was  ap 
parently  studying  the  pearl  handle  of  her  parasol,  as  she 
gave  the  graceful  knight  no  notice  —  a  circumstance 
which  that  gentleman  recognized  with  an  angry  flush. 

"  Why,  Echo,  is  it  possible  that  you  did  not  see  the 
count?"  inquired  Lady  Clifford,  surprised  at  her  daugh 
ter's  rudeness. 

"  The  count!  where?  Upon  my  soul!  "  with  a  glance 
backward  at  the  count's  retreating  form.  "  The  magnift- 


134  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

cent  La  Croix  must  be  practicing  as  a  si  ige-ghost  or  as 
sassin  that  he  is  able  to  glide  by  so  stealthily." 

Lady  Clifford  regarded  her  with  a  look  of  mingled 
surprise  and  reproach,  but  said  nothing.  As  for  Legrand, 
he  could  have  knelt  and  kissed  the  dainty  kids  that  en 
veloped  her  feet.  Mademoiselle  had  achieved,  inten 
tionally,  an  adroit  coup. 

Proceeding  two  or  three  blocks  further,  after  M.  Le 
grand  had  gone  his  separate  way,  the  ladies  mounted  a 
flight  of  stairs  leading  to  the  upper  stories  of  a  mourn 
ful  tenement-house.  At  the  second  landing,  they  turned 
aside  into  a  narrow  hall,  along  which  they  proceeded  to 
wards  the  back  portion  of  the  building  until  they  reached 
the  threshold  of  a  dark  room,  where  Lady  Clifford  hesi 
tated  a  moment  as  if  uncertain  of  its  identity  with  the 
one  she  sought.  Entering,  however,  and  gradually  be 
coming  accustomed  to  the  dim  light,  they  discovered  in 
one  corner  a  pallet  on  which  lay  a  woman,  gray,  dirty, 
disheveled  —  a  ghastly  hag,  whose  form  was  shaken  at 
brief  intervals  with  a  sepulchral  cough.  A  flannel  che 
mise,  and  a  tattered  and  grimy  coverlet,  were  all  that  ob 
scured  her  bony  -wretchedness.  Her  skin  was  sallow, 
wrinkled,  and  as  dry  as  parchment.  Her  sunken  eyes, 
overhung  by  shaggy  brows,  shot  savage  gleams  in  the 
lair-like  obscurity  of  the  apartment.  Her  teeth,  the 
few  that  were  left,  were  yellow  and  carnivorouslj 
pointed.  Upon  her  distorted  lips  sat  a  horrible  snari. 
It  was  sin  grown  old,  miserable  and  forsaken  —  that 
hideous  mistress  whom,  it  is  said,  we  at  first  dread, 

"But,  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  her  face, 
We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace  !" 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  135 

Yet,   this   can   only  be   averred   of  vice  in  youth;  vice 
grown  old  is  monstrous  with  antidotal  ugliness. 

Lady  Clifford  could  not  repress  a  shudder  at  this  lep-  '' 
rous  spectacle,  and  was  about  to  turn  away  with  silent 
disgust,  but  hesitated  an  instant,  then  turned  and  ad 
dressed  the  woman  on  the  pallet  thus:  "Pardon  me, 
we  were  looking  for  the  apartment  of  a  destitute  woman 
who  bears  the  name  of  Laselle ;  but,"  as  a  new  idea  sug 
gested  itself,  "we  are  simply  striving  to  assist  our  suffer 
ing  fellow-creatures.  Can  we  be  of  any  service  to  you  ? " 

"  Hah,"  exclaimed  the  old  woman  in  a  hoarse,  rattling 
voice,  "it  is  the  voice  of  an  angel!  Look  at  me,  mad- 
ame,  look !  a  thousand  curses  upon  the  fiends  of  age, 
and  want,  and  disease!  Do  I  seem  like  one  that  has 
need  of  help?  But  perhaps  you  are  only  come  with 
your  soft  voice  and  fine  attire  to  show  me  how  wretch 
edly  unjust  is  the  God  to  whom  the  lying  spires  of  La 
belle  Paris  are  pointing  us  the  way!  No  matter.  Do 
you  not  see  that  I  am  dying  here  like  a  whimpering  old 
rat  in  the  stinking  vaults  of  a  sewer?  See!  I  have  no 
dress.  It  has  gone  for  food.  There  is  not  in  this  noi 
some  dungeon  of  a  room  the  sustenance  that  the  vilest 
fly  could  live  upon  for  a  day.  Come,  I  am  old,  neg 
lected,  dying  —  but  I  can  curse  like  a  Christian.  Will 
you  have  pity  and  give  me  fire,  and  food,  and  drink  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Lady  Cliftord,  endeavoring  by  a  strong 
effort  to  conceal  her  unutterable  loathing  of  this  human 
hyena;  "I  shall  send  you  all  these,  and,  in  the  mean 
while,  shall  leave  you  money  for  immediate  wants. 
Echo,  you  are  treasurer  to-day,"  added  she,  turning  to 


*3  WHAT  CAME  OF  IT. 

the  latter,  who  stood  in  the  doorway  with  a  look  of  scorn 
and  repulsion  on  her  fair  face. 

As  the  young  lady  advanced,  disengaging  the  clasp  of 
her  porte-monnaie,  the  woman  rose  to  a  half-sitting  pos 
ture,  and,  brushing  back  her  bristling,  gray  hair  with 
skinny  hand,  regarded  her  with  a  glance  of  keen,  hor 
rible  scrutiny.  There  are  those,  particularly  among  the 
lower  orders,  to  whom  the  power  of  vision  remains  un 
impaired  to  the  extremest  old  age.  One  of  these  was 
the  crouching  horror  of  the  pallet.  Suddenly,  as  if  some 
strange  interest  had  arisen  in  her  thoughts,  she  crooked 
her  neck  forward  and,  shading  her  eyes  with  her  corpse- 
like  hand,  pored  upon  the  features  of  Zarina  with  baleful 
earnestness. 

"Ha!  ha!  ough!  ough!  ough!"  laughed  and  coughed 
the  nauseous  wretch,  sinking  back  upon  her  pallet.  "A 
thousand  curses  upon  that  funeral  cough!  and  a  million 
curses  upon  age,  and  want,  and  disease!  but  this  is  a 
masquerade  that  it  is  worth  living  to  see !  I  am  not  to 
be  deceived,  though  I  am  dying  in  a  dungeon  like  a  rat. 
It  is  Zarina,  the  danseuse,  dispensing  charity  in  the  guise 
of  a  lady!  Ough!  ough!  ough!  What?  do  you  not 
recognize  me,  Mother  Mommet?"  she  howled,  striking 
her  forehead  savagely  with  her  hand. 

Zarina  almost  sank  to  the  floor  at  this  alarming  out 
burst;  but  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  bore  her  up, 
and,  though  pale  and  trembling,  she  turned  to  Lady 
Clifford:  "  What,  in  the  name  of  Heaven!  does  the  old 
•woman  mean?  Have  we  invaded  the  lair  of  a  wild 
beast?  or  a  lunatic?  Come,  mamma,  we  must  hasten 
from  here,  or  I  shall  faint  with  horror!  Come!"  —  and 


CAME  OP  IT.  137 

flinging  several  pieces  of  silver  towards  the  pallet,  she 
hurried  through  the  door  with  a  white,  scared  face. 

"  Do  not  be  so  frightened,  my  child.  I  do  not  think 
the  good  woman  is  dangerous.  Weakened  by  suffering 
and  in  the  semi-darkness  of  the  garret,  she  has,  no  doubt, 
mistaken  you  for  some  one  else,"  replied  her  ladyship 
soothingly,  as  Zarina  tremblingly  drew  her  along  the 
hall.  As  she  seemed  so  much  alarmed,  however,  Lady 
Clifford  thought  it  best  to  comply  with  her  request  to 
return  home. 

In  the  street,  near  their  residence,  they  were  inter 
cepted  by  La  Croix,  who  seemed  to  be  desirous  of  con 
sulting  her  ladyship  about  the  best  disposition  of  some 
surplus  funds  which  he  wished  to  appropriate  to  the 
cause  of  suffering  humanity. 

Of  course,  innocent  Lady  Clifford  saw  no  impropriety 
in  the  polite  count  picking  up,  between  thumb  and  fore 
finger,  the  dainty  bit  of  costly  lace,  designated  as  a  hand 
kerchief,  which  careless  Zarina,  after  winding  nine  times 
around  her  little  finger,  let  fall. 

The  artful  count,  au  fait  in  all  the  languages  of  love 
and  intrigue,  interpreted  the  handkerchief  performance 
to  mean  —  "Meet  me  at  nine  o'clock  this  evening  in  the 
arbor."  The  count,  with  a  profound  bow,  left  them  at 
the  door. 

Lady  Clifford  went  immediately  to  her  own  private 
room. 

Zarina,  without  removing  her  wraps,  entered  the  draw 
ing-room,  whither  she  had  been  preceded  by  Legrand. 
Upon  her  entrance  he  arose  and  met  her.  Noticing  the 
coldness  of  her  hand,  he  keenly  scanned  her  face,  at  the 


138  WHAT    CAME    OF    it. 

same  time  asking  eagerly :  "  What  is  it  ?  you  seem  to  be 
excited  ? " 

"O,  monsieur!"  was  the  startling  reply,  "we  are  rui 
ned.  I  was  met  and  recognized  by  the  only  one  whom  I 
ever  feared." 

Leading  her  to  a  chair,  and  seating  her,  Monsieur  Le- 
grand  said,  reassuringly :  "  It  may  not  be  as  bad  as  you 
think.  Compose  yourself,  love,  and  tell  me  all  of  the 
particulars." 

"  After  leaving  you  at  Cruzan's,  we  proceeded  quite  a 
distance  beyond  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens  to  a  part  of 
the  city  I  have  never  before  visited.  Lady  Clifford  has 
the  street  and  number,  however,  in  her  memorandum. 
Arriving  at  an  old  tenement  house,  we  ascended  a  rick 
ety  flight  of  stairs  to  the  second  landing,  where  we 
turned  into  a  hall-way  as  dark  and  damp  as  a  cellar. 
From  the  hall,  we  entered  a  gloomy  and  desolate  room, 
reeking  with  filth  and  disease,  where,  in  a  corner,  upon 
a  loathsome  pallet,  was  a  frightful  old  woman.  As  this 
creature  received  us  somewhat  after  the  fashion  of  a 
hungry  wild  beast,  Lady  Clifford  was,  for  a  moment, 
horrified  and  speechless.  Recovering  herself,  however, 
she  explained  our  mistake,  and  ended  by  offering  to  send 
her  all  the  usual  necessaries.  As  I  stepped  forward  to 
hand  the  woman  some  money,  at  the  request  of  her  lady 
ship,  I  was  terrified  to  meet  the  mother  of  one  who  was 
supposed  to  have  committed  suicide  on  my  account. 
Her  son,  an  only  child,  on  whom  she  doted,  formerly 
belonged  to  the  same  company  as  myself;  in  truth  I 
flirted  with  him.  He,  foolish  boy,  took  everything  in 
earnest  and  became  so  jealous  that  I  had  to  cast  him 


WHAT   CAME    OF    IT,  1 

adrift,  and  he,  as  I  said  before,  destroyed  himself. 
Would  that  his  mother  could  do  as  well  —  it  would 
certainly  be  a  blessed  deliverance  for  me." 

For  full  five  minutes  Legrand  waited,  and  then,  rather 
impatiently,  with  a  decided  frown  of  displeasure  on  his 
pale  face,  and  a  keen  glance  of  the  deep-set  eyes,  said: 

"Proceed." 

The  thought  of  a  former  lover  was  excessively  annoy 
ing  to  him. 

"  Well,"  resumed  Zarina,  shivering,  "  as  I  handed  her 
the  money,  she  cried  out  in  a  voice  so  bitter  that  if  all 
the  bitter  inflections  which  I  have  ever  heard  in  my  life 
were  concentrated  in  one  word  it  would  have  been 
sweet  in  comparison.  Ah !  I  have  it  —  'It  is  she !  Zar 
ina,  .the  ballet  dancer,  dispensing  charity  in  the  guise  of» 
a  lady.  What,  you  don't  recognize  me  ? '  calling  herself 
by  name.  '  Shall  I  refresh  your  memory  ?  Mademoi 
selle,  the  ballet  girl,  has  become  a  clever  actress.'  After 
saying  which  she  fell  backward  with  a  horrid  contraction 
of  the  face,  and  a  sinking  of  the  long,  flat  finger  nails 
into  the  bloodless  flesh,  accompanied  with  a  frigthful 
laugh  which  all  the  dark  corners  of  the  room  seemed  to 
re-echo.  Of  course  Lady  Clifford  thinks  her  to  be  in 
sane  from  suffering,  at  present;  yet,  she  is  almost  sure 
to  return,  thereby  giving  the  woman  an  opportunity 
which  she  will  be  sure  to  improve.  My  only  hope  is 
based  on  her  propensity  to  acquire  a  '  bit  of  land '  as  she 
formerly  called  it.  Should  her  greed  prove  stronger 
than  her  desire  of  revenge,  she  can  be  bought  off." 

Monsieur  Legrand,  thoughtfully  stroking  his  beard, 
observed :     "  Nothing  was  said  to  give  the  woman  a  cue 


140  WHAT    CAME    OF    it. 

as  to  your  present  name  or  place  of  residence,  as  you  re 
member  ? " 

Zarina,  after  a  pause,  replied,  "No,  I  think  not;  I 
am  quite  sure,  in  fact,  that  Lady  Clifford  'addressed  me 
;as  'my  child'  only." 

Legrand,  who  had  been  slowly  pacing  backward  and 
forward  before  her  chair,  stopped  short,  and  said  rather 
quietly,  as  one  engaged  in  serious  reflection,  "  That  was 
all  the  better  for  you.  Though  the  woman  might  re 
ceive  hush  money,  yet  you  would  never  feel  safe,  and 
her  present  conviction  would  be  verified  by  the  ofier; 
while,  on  the  contrary,  if  something  startling  should  oc 
cur  to  the  woman  herself,  that  .would  drive  her  thoughts 
in  another  direction,  no  doubt  but  that  she  would,  in  the 
Course  of  time,  regard  the  whole  affair  as  a  sick  fancy. 
I  hope,  however,  that  this  will  teach  you  the  folly  of  co 
quetting,"  added  Legrand  rather  irrelevantly. 

Zarina,  who  had  been  steadily  gazing  out  of  the  win 
dow  with  troubled  eyes  and  rigid  face,  flushed,  but 
said  nothing.  Presently  she  arose  and  turned  to  Le 
grand  with  an  imploring  look  and  out-stretched  hands, 
like  a  naughty  child  seeking  sympathy  from  an  emended 
mother. 

Monsieur  Legrand  responded  by  taking  her  little  cold 
hands  between  his  large  feverish  ones  and  rubbing  them 
briskly  for  a  moment,  then,  folding  them  caressingly 
across  her  breast,  while,  looking  fondly  upon  her,  he  said 
in  a  softer  tone :  "  My  love,  you  will  obtain  possession 
of  her  ladyship's  diary  containing  the  street  and  number 
of  the  house  which  you  visited  this  morning,  placing  the 
Same  in  the  pocket  of  my  light  overcoat  hanging  in  the 


WHAT    CAME    OF    rt,  14! 

hall ;  after  which  you  will  drink  a  cup  of  strong  tea  to 
compose  your  nerves  and  retire  to  rest.  You  did  well 
in  coming  to  me  immediately,  as  I  shall  not  allow  Mother- 
what's-her-name  to  give  you  further  annoyance." 

Echo's  eyes  lighted  —  "You  have  a  plan,  then,  mon 
sieur,"  she  asked,  eagerly. 

"  Most  assuredly,"  he  made  answer,  smilingly,  patting 
her  soft  cheek.  "  It  is  only  another  obstacle  to  be  re 
moved." 

Twining  her  arms  about  his  neck,  she  bent  his  head, 
and  while  leaning  her  cheek  against  his,  whispered  in 
her  soft,  cooing  voice  —  "  You  will  succeed,  then,  you  arc 
so  subtile.  Do  you  know  that  I  am  loving  you  a  little 
more  every  day,  you  rogue  ? " 

Then,  with  a  sudden  start,  and  mock  earnestness, 
"But,  I  had  almost  forgotten.  Where  is  the  testimonial 
from  M.  Cruzan?" 

"You  will  find  it  in  your  dressing-case;  but,  remember 
that  it  is  sub  rosa,  and  not  to  be  worn  until  a  public  mar 
riage  crowns  our  victory." 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 


paused  at  the  door  of  Lady  Clifford's 
dressing-room,  and,  with  lifted  finger  and 
bent  head,  appeared  to  listen.  Hearing  no 
sound  from  the  interior,  she  gathered  her 
skirts  in  one  hand,  so  as  to  keep  them  from  rustling, 
turned  the  knob,  and  noiselessly  entered.  The  apart 
ment  was  empty.  Swiftly  crossing  the  floor,  she  found 
what  she  sought  on  the  top  of  the  bureau,  and  stealthily 
retired. 

Proceeding  to  her  own  apartment,  she  flew  to  the 
toilet,  where  lay  the  gift  of  M.  Legrand.  Upon  opening 
the  case,  the  effulgence  of  a  full  set  of  diamonds  flashed 
upon  her,  and  she  could  hardly  repress  a  scream  of  de 
light. 

"  O,  glittering  beauties  !"  she  cried,  triumphantly,  hold 
ing  the  diamonds  towards  the  light,  to  note  their  stream 
ing  splendor.  "  It  is,  indeed,  a  royal  gift." 

Then,  arraying  herself  in  the  jewels,  she  stood  before 
the  glass  with  half-closed,  admiring  eyes,  and  solilo 
quized,  after  the  manner  of  women  : 

"  If  the  giver  were  not  so  plebian  and  jealous,  he 
would  make  a  goodish  husband,  after  all.  With  a  lit 
tle  pampering,  he  would  become  one  of  the  most  uxori 
ous  of  mankind  —  a  condition,  however,  which  would  be 
come  a  formidable  bore  to  a  wife  not  en  rapport  with  his 


WHAT  CAME  OP  IT*  143 

weakness.  These  diamonds  must  have  cost  a  small 
fortune.  A  few  such  gifts  would  utterly  wreck  Le- 
grand's  exchequer,  since  he  is  living  now  mainly  on 
great  expectations.  Heigh  ho  !  if  he  were  only  younger, 
handsomer,  and  had  a  title,  a  woman  might  go  farther 
and  fare  worse,  as  they  say,  in  search  of  a  husband;  but 
he  is  plain  Monsieur  Legrand,  and  can  never  be  younger 
or  handsomer  than  he  is.  What  do  you  say,  queen  of 
the  ballet  and  marvel  of  intrigue  ?"  simpering  at  her  re 
flection  in  the  glass ;  "  shall  it  be  '  countess '  or  '  madame  ?' 
The  title,  of  course — I  read  it  in  every  feature  of  your 
piquant  and  lovely  face  !  The  fates  have  decreed  !  La 
Croix  will  win,  but  not  so  much  as  he  thinks;  yet  he 
cannot  complain.  This  is  a  world  of  second-hand  goods; 
every  man's  wife  has  been  some  other  man's  sweet 
heart  !" 

Having  aired  these  chaste  sentiments  in  the  solitude  of 
her  chamber,  Zarina  unclasped  the  jewels,  put  them 
away  under  lock,  and  hastened  down  stairs  with  the 
purloined  diary,  which  was  placed  in  the  pocket  of  the 
drab  overcoat,  according  to  directions. 

In  the  course  of  half  an  hour,  M.  Legrancl  emerged 
from  the  gilded  gates  of  the  mansion,  and  walked 
leisurely  down  the  street.  Penetrating  the  business  quar 
ter  of  the  city,  he  came  to  No.  42  Rue  de ,  which 

was  a  bazaar  for  the  sale  of  ladies'  furnishing  goods,  and 
sported,  in  gilt  letters,  over  its  arched  entrance,  the  name 
of  Madame  Fleurot,  that  lady  being  herself  in  at 
tendance  upon  some  fashionable  customers  when  M.  Le 
grand  entered. 

Mrne.  Fleurot  was  a  bright,  active  woman,  of  middle 


144  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

age,  proficient  and  popular  in  her  calling.  She  greeted 
Legrand  in  a  manner  which  betokened  mutual  ac 
quaintance,  and,  when  her  customers  had  gone,  showed 
him  into  a  cosy  little  side  room. 

"  Be  seated,  monsieur,"  she  said,  cheerfully,  motioning 
the  lawyer  to  an  easy  chair.  "  I  declare,  it  is  an  age 
since  you  honored  me  with  a  visit  !" 

"  Not  so  very  long,  madame.  Your  health  and  busi 
ness  are  both  good,  I  presume  ?" 

"About  as  usual,"  answered  the  lady,  with  grave 
courtesy.  "Do  you  know,  monsieur,"  she  immediately 
added,  "that  I  despair  of  ever  being  able  to  pay  that 
mortgage  ?" 

"  Indeed  !"  said  Legrand,  with  polite  surprise.  "  Then 
I  am  here  opportunely,  since  my  present  business  with 
madame  is  for  the  purpose  of  making  her  a  proposition 
which  will  enable  her  to  accomplish  that  very  thing. 
Madame  surely  remembers  how  her  own  son,  innocent 
though  he  was,  came  so  nearly  being  convicted  through 
circumstantial  evidence  ?  \Vell,  to  be  explicit,  I  have  a 
somewhat  similar  case  on  hand,  though  in  this  instance  I 
should  be  blind,  as  well  as  dull, -were  I  not  convinced 
that  false  evidence  will  be  given  through  pure  malig 
nity.  This,  you,  madame,  have  it  in  your  power  to  pre 
vent,  while  benefiting  yourself,"  he  craftily  pursued, 
impressively  pausing  to  note  the  effect  of  this  somewhat 
dubious  communication  on  Madame  Fleurot. 

Madame,  all  attention,  answered,  with  a  demure  drop 
ping  of  her  eyelids  : 

"Had  I  no  other  motive,  the  debt  of  gratitude  which 


WHAT   CAME    OF   IT.  1 45 

I  owe  to  you  would  be  amply  sufficient  to  interest  me  in 
this  affair." 

"Thanks,"  said  Legrand,  gratified  at  the  favorable 
opening  of  his  subject ;  "  not  only  for  myself,  but  also 
for  the  poor  sick  mother  whose  only  child  is  in  dan- 
ger." 

"The  part  which  I  wish  you  to  act  in  the  affair  is 
this,"  resumed  he,  after  a  pause,  assuming  an  air  of 
special  confidence  :  "  Take  this  money.  After  filling  a 
basket  with  provisions,  you  will  place  the  remainder  in 
your  purse.  Taking  some  one  along  to  carry  your  bas 
ket,  you  are  to  proceed  immediately  to  the  place  whose 
direction  I  shall  give  you.  It  would  be  better,  perhaps, 
for  you  to  enter  several  rooms,  leaving  something  in 
each,  before  entering  the  fifth  room  to  the  right  of  the 
second  landing.  Within  this  room  you  will  find  an  old 
woman,  in  a  complete  state  of  destitution.  There  you 
are  to  leave  the  entire  contents  of  the  basket,  and  also 
contrive  to  drop  your  purse,  unseen  by  the  one  by 
whom  you  are  accompanied,  though  plainly  perceptible 
to  the  woman  herself.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  you  must 
first  become  aware  of  your  loss.  Upon  your  inquiring, 
she  will  be  apt  to  deny  all  knowledge  of  it.  Then  you 
must  have  her  arrested.  The  purse  will  be  found  in  her 
possession,  which  will  be  proof  positive,  and  she  will  be 
sent  to  prison  for  a  short  time,  and  thereby  prevented, 
through  your  instrumentality,  from  grievously  wronging 
an  innocent  person,  while  at  the  same  time  you  will 
cancel  a  mortgage  which  would  otherwise  deprive  you 
of  a  home." 


146  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 


"In  case  the  woman  should  deliver  up  the  purse," 
hazarded  Madame  Fleurot;  "what  then,  monsieur  ?" 

"Why,  an  altered  case  would  most  assuredly  require 
a  change  of  tactics.^  I  do  not  anticipate  such  an  event, 
however — that  is,  if  you  are  not  very  fierce  in  your  de 
mand  for  its  restoration.  Of  course,  it  would  not  be  the 
best  policy  to  speak  of  sending  for  an  officer  in  the 
presence  of  the  accused,"  he  added,  leaning  his  head  on 
his  hand,  and  slowly  dropping  his  heavy  eyelids  over 
his  keen,  searching  eyes.  "  Please  remember  that  what 
is  done  must  be  done  quickly,"  continued  he,  arising 
from  his  seat,  hat  in  hand.  "  I  shall  expect  to  hear  of 
the  success  of  our  plan  by  three  o'clock  this  after 
noon." 

"  Of  our  success,  or  failure,  monsieur,  whichever  it 
chance  to  be." 

"  You  will  not  fail  if  you  bear  in  mind  that  to  succeed 
is  to  cancel  the  mortgage,"  said  Legrand,  bowing. 

"  I  will  try  to  fulfill  your  wishes  in  a  creditable  man 
ner,  monsieur,"  promised  the  woman,  with  a  blush  of 
shame,  though  with  a  tone  of  resolution. 

With  this  assurance  the  man  and  the  woman  sep 
arated,  Madame  Fleurot  hastening  to  entangle  one  of 
her  own  sex  in  the  meshes  of  the  law,  while  Legrand 
lighted  a  fresh  cigar,  and  sauntered  up  the  street,  with  a 
satisfied  air. 


Punctually  to  agreement,  Lady  Clifford  sent  the  pro 
mised  help  to  the  sick  woman.  The  room  was  vacant — 
the  woman  gone  ! 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  147 

Upon  relating  the  incident  to  Legrand,  her  ladyship 
asked  : 

"  Do  you  not  think  the  whole  occurrence  rather  un 
usual,  monsieur  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  was  the  ready  reply.  "  The  woman  was, 
no  doubt,  delirious  from  fever,  and  has,  in  all  probability, 
been  taken  to  some  hospital.  I  am  sure  that  such  oc 
currences  are  happening  every  day." 

"Yes,  I  presume  so,"  answered  Lady  Clifford,  with  a 
gentle  sigh.  "Do  you  know,  monsieur,  that  the  only 
bearable  thought  which  I  could  ever  derive  from  this 
great  abysm  of  suffering,  is,  that  were  there  no  misery, 
there  would  also  be  no  happiness  ?  Strange,"  added 
she,  after  a  slight  pause,  "  that  life  should  be  so  consti 
tuted  that  pleasure  and  pain  are  made  to  travel  on  the 
same  roadways,  and  that  the  same  poor  heart  should  own 
the  dominion  of  each  !" 

"Exactly,  madame.  I  myself  have  long  been  fully 
persuaded  that  pain  and  joy  are  not  only  useful,  but  also 
absolutely  necessary  to  sympathy  and  knowledge,  else 
actions  proceeding  from  the  true  conditions  of  life  could 
not  be  understood.  Surely  one  state  of  sensation  im 
plies,  augments,  and  necessitates  the  other.  Who,  for 
instance,  would  commit  the  absurdity  of  expatiating  upon 
the  tenderness  of  affection  or  the  agony  of  a  separation 
to  one  whom  they  knew  to  be  totally  devoid  of  feeling ; 
for  though  the  words  to  convey  the  ideas  would  not  be 
wanting,  the  experimental  knowledge,  which  always, 
with  reference  to  these  things,  implies  feeling,  would  be 
wholly  wanting.  Plato  was  a  fool  to  philosophize  about 
abstract  good ;  it  is  an  idea  which  can  exist  only  in  the 


148  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

mind  of  the  Creator.  And,"  continued  Legrand,  com 
placently  surveying  himself  in  a  mirror  opposite,  "  it  is 
this  relative  practical  nature  of  good  and  evil  that  makes 
it  impossible  for  persons  who  have  health,  youth,  af 
fluence,  etc.,  to  be  humane  and  sympathetic.  Their  good 
fortune  gives  them  supreme  independence." 

"  Supreme  independence  is  an  attribute  of  God  alone," 
answered  Lady  Clifford,  with  grave  sweetness,  as  she 
stood  at  the  window  securely  fastening  a  small  cluster  of 
purple  pansies  beneath  the  pin  on  her  bosom,  while  her 
tender  eyes  wandered  meditatively  around  the  smooth, 
green  lawn  without,  where  a  dream  of  sunlight  lingered 
lovingly.  "Perfect  happiness  !  supreme  independence  !" 
she  softly  repeated.  "  Why,  monsieur,  there  are  blighted 
grains  in  every  field,  however  fair  the  seeming.  Even 
the  calm,  bright  beauty  of  yon  sky  is  borrowed  from  the 
atmosphere,  while  the  awful  sublimity  of  the  lofty  moun 
tains  is  heightened  by  the  accretion  of  the  tiny  snow- 
flakes.  The  mighty  rivers  owe  their  majesty  to  the  lit 
tle  streamlets.  The  forests,  celebrated  in  song  and  story ; 
the  luxuriant  vegetation,  both  useful  and  ornamental; 
the  flowers,  bright  souvenirs  of  Eden — all  these  are  in 
debted  to  the  richness  of  the  soil,  the  warmth  of  the 
climate,  and  the  proper  condensation  of  vapor.  Thus 
we  find  that  nothing  stands  alone.  Nothing  is  wholly 
independent,  for  everything  is  useful,  everything  is  neces 
sary.  Those  who  despise  first  causes  are  like  a  giant 
oak  who  would  close  his  million  pores  against  the  sap 
that  gives  him  life,  and  shake  the  dew  from  his  dancing 
leaves.  While  suffering  brings  its  revelation  of  happi 
ness,  it  is  only  through  the  antagonism  of  the  two  that 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  149 

\ve  obtain  a  clear  conception  of  either.  In  con 
templating  the  litter  helplessness  of  mankind,  from  their 
advent  to  their  exit,  one  is  led  to  ask  :  'Who  is  free  ? 
Who  is  independent  ?'  It  is  the  darkness  which  covers 
one  class  of  society,  which  forms  such  a  cogent  contrast 
to  the  light  embathing  the  other.  A  demand  always 
evolves  a  supply.  No  human  being  was  ever  inde 
pendent  in  knowledge,  or  infallible  in  judgment.  True, 
while  chasing  phantoms,  stumbling  over  errors,  and 
groping  in  darkness,  intellectual  meteors  have  gleamed 
here  and  there  through  our  mental  atmosphere,  all  the 
more  prized  because  transitory ;  but  it  would  be  well  for 
the  egotist  to  remember,  perhaps,  that  a  real  flame  of 
knowledge  is  never  allowed  to  be  wholly  extinguished, 
and  that  a  broken  lamp  is  always  replaced  when  most 
needed.  Though  mankind,  taken  in  masses,  are  mighty, 
and  may  even  be  called  irresistible,  yet  their  impotency, 
when  separated,  is  pitiable,  and  would  be  truly  lu 
dicrous  were  it  not  so  sad.  In  fact  all  thought,  all 
knowledge,  all  reason,  all  language,  all  life,  must  have 
had  a  beginning ;  therefore,  the  whole  is  but  the  effect 
of  a  great  first  cause — orderly,  intelligent,  omnipotent, 
eternal." 

"  Ah  me,  mamma  mine,  as  my  poor  brain  refuses  to 
digest  philosophic  fare,  please  do  change  the  subject," 
exclaimed  Zarina,  who  had  entered  the  room  unper- 
ceived  by  either  Lady  Clifford  or  Legrand. 

"  I,  myself,"  said  Legrand,  unheeding  the  interruption, 
"  could  properly  accept  the  doctrine  of  optimity  were  it 
not  for  those,  to  me,  terrible  interceptions  of  vital  forces. 
No  argument  drawn  from  great  expectations  of  future 


150  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

happiness  can  convince  me  that  this  constant  and  ruth 
less  destruction  of  human  life  is,  was,  or  ever  will  be, 
for  the  best." 

"  In  the  name  of  sanity,  monsieur,"  said  Zarina,  with 
affected  wonder,  "is  it  possible  that  you  understand 
yourself?  Ma  foil  you  must  have  bad  company  when 
alone,  if  this  jargon  be  a  sample  of  your  thoughts  !  But, 
look  here,  my  good  people,  it  is  past  nine  o'clock,  and 
quite  time  that  this  little  '  Diet  of  Worms,'  gloomy  re 
past!  should  have  an  end." 

This  sally  closed  the  conversation,  the  "  good-nights  " 
were  given,  and  soon  slumber  reigned  over  that  strange 
household. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

UMAN  nature  presents  strange  contrasts.  In 
some  persons  affliction  produces  a  great  com 
motion.  In  these,  the  very  fierceness  of  grief 
exhausts  its  power,  and  the  disturbing  elements 
are  cast  forth  as  the  thunder-cloud  discharges  its  heavi 
ness  in  lightning  and  rain.  At  the  time  of  bereave 
ment,  they  descend  to  the  lowest  vales  of  suffering  and 
the  midnight  of  despair,  rending  the  air  with  their  cries, 
and  clinging  to  the  dead  ashes  of  their  loved;  but  they 
emerge  again  with  elastic  vitality,  and  drink  the  sun 
shine  with  joyous  ardor. 

There  are  others,  again,  whose  true  hearts  shiver  like 
a  mirror  and  are  never  restored,  "  but  brokenly  live  on." 
With  these,  sexual  love  is  devotional  in  its  strength  and 
absorbing  in  its  power.  Disappointment  cannot  be  out 
lived.  No  dreamy  lotion,  no  fiery  elixir  can  soothe  their 
grief  to  sleep  or  stir  their  hearts  with  hope.  A  persist 
ent  minor  note  mars  the  music  of  life,  and  the  unbidden 
spectre  sits  with  them  at  every  feast. 

Of  this  latter  class  *was  Echo;  and  her  daily  prayer 
was,  not  to  be  delivered  from  the  gloom  of  her  sorrow, 
but  for  strength  to  bear  it.  The  sweet,  mournful  words 
of  Longfellow  were  often  on  her  mind : 

"The  air  is  full  of  farewells  to  the  dying, 
A.nd  mournings  for  the  dead  j 


1^2  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

The  heart  of  Rachel,  for  her  children  crying, 
Will  not  be  comforted  ! 

"Let  us  be  patient  !     These  severe  afflictions 
Not  from  the  ground  arise. 
But  oftentimes  celestial  benedictions 
Assume  this  dark  disguise." 

But,  to  pursue  our  diagnosis  of  the  tender  passion  a 
little  further,  it  may  be  observed  that  there  is  an  ideal 
love,  which  invests  its  object  with  impossible  attractions. 
It  is  as  regularly  an  incident  of  youth  as  teething  is  of 
childhood,  and  quite  as  painful.  It  is  the  fragrance  of 
life's  blossom  -  time,  soon  gone,  but  deliciously  remem 
bered. 

Then  there  is  a  love  which  is  justly  included  under 
Blackstone's  definition  of  "things  corporal."  It  is  simply 
animal  phosphorus,  and  not  to  be  analytically  discussed. 

The  highest  and  best  love  is  intellectual  and  spiritual. 
It  is  the  substance  of  the  peach  when  the  rude  hand  of 
experience  has  brushed  away  its  treacherous  bloom.  It 
survives  the  wreck  of  youth  and  beauty,  and  strengthens 
with  the  lapse  of  time.  It  is  the  leaven  of  divinity  in 
human  souls  —  our  connecting  link  with  the  eternal  har 
monies  of  heaven.  This  love  is  the  cro\vn  and  glory  of 
every  mortal  life  —  the  deathless  germ  that  remains  from 
the  lapse  of  Eden.  Shall  we  not  seek  it  with  bleeding 
feet  through  all  the  world?  Who  knows  but,  like 
prayer,  it  may  be  our  watchword  at  the  gates  of  death? 
Such  a  love  was  that  of  Echo  for  Arthur,  and  it  still 
survived  j)ll  clunr^o  and  disasters. 

There  is  no  heroism  in  this  world  as  beautiful  and 
rare  as  self-denial,  rising  to  the  sublimity  of  self-sac- 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  153 

rilice,  through  disinterested  kindness  to  others.  The  de 
livery  of  Abraham  from  the  sacrificial  agony,  has  few 
parallels  in  history.  Ordinarily,  the  cruel  play  grinds  on 
to  its  tragic  close,  and  the  recompense  of  truth  and  faith 
is  among  the  treasures  of  heaven. 

Eclio,  not  destroyed  by  the  blight  of  her  love,  or  the 
bleak  loneliness  and  threatened  struggles  of  her  life,  had 
quietly  taken  little  \Vistit  into  her  affections,  assuming 
the  care  of  the  draggled  castaway  as  the  heavy,  yet 
precious,  burden  of  her  days. 

It  is  the  crowning  sin  and  shame  of  this  Christian  age 
that  the  greatest  enemy  with  which  an  unprotected  hard 
working,  independent  girl  has  to  contend,  is  calumny. 
The  leprous  tongue  of  the  slanderer  is  prone  to  seek 
these  unshielded  heroines  of  toil,  and  the  venomous  drip 
of  its  saliva  has  blackened  many  a  fair  name  —  blasted 
the  hope  of  many  an  aspiring  soul.  Thus  far  obscurity 
had  protected  Echo  from  the  "slings  and  arrows"  of  de 
traction,  but  there  was  danger  at  hand. 

An  amateur  concert,  for  some  charitable  purpose,  was 
to  be  held  in  the  church  which  Echo  attended,  the  mu 
sical  portion  of  the  entertainment  to  be  followed  by  a 
basket  supper.  At  the  urgent  solicitation  of  the  mana 
gers  the  young  music  teacher  consented  to  preside  at  the 
piano,  and  to  further  assist  the  occasion  by  reciting  that 
beautiful  poem  —  "  The  Miracle  of  the  Roses." 

Is  there  a  fatality  in  occasions?  Assuredly.  The 
fates  often  hand  us  the  gossamer  threads  of  our  own  des 
tinies,  in  very  derision  of  our  vanity  and  blindness. 

Echo,  in  order  to  escape  the  pursuit  of  her  enemies, 
had  adopted  the  name  of  Newbury,  and  it  was,  of  course, 


154  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

understood  that  she  and  the  nurse,  Aunt  Newbury,  were 
sisters.  Mr.  Farrish's  mistake  had  first  suggested  the 
idea  and  the  harmless  fiction  had  been  permanently 
adopted. 

The  entertainment,  which  was  largely  advertised  in 
the  city  papers,  chanced  to  fix  the  attention  of  Edmond 
Ainsley,  whose  eye,  while  carelessly  running  over  the 
programme,  was  arrested  by  the  name  of  Newbury. 
"Newbury!  Newbury!"  he  repeated,  thoughtfully, 
while  drumming  with  his  fingers  on  the  table  by  which 
he  was  seated.  Suddenly  bringing  his  hand  down  upon 
his  knee  with  force,  he  mentally  ejaculated,  "Eureka, 
by  Jove !  the  name  of  that  infernal  old  nurse  at  the  se 
raglio  on  Stockton  street !  And  she  did  succeed  in  New- 
burying  my  little  bird,  that  is,  as  far  as  I  was  concerned, 
pretty  effectually;  but  its  gift  of  song  has  at  last  be 
trayed  its  place  of  retirement." 

"To-morrow  night  at  half -past  seven  o'clock,"  he 
added,  referring  again  to  the  advertisement.  "  Rest  as 
sured  I  shall  be  there,  ?na  chere  !  " 

The  evening  was  a  propitious  one;  the  church  was 
full  to  repletion.  Each  and  every  participator  performed 
his  or  her  part  creditably.  Echo  presided  at  the  piano 
with  the  graceful  dignity  of  a  professional.  When  it 
came  her  turn  to  recite,  however,  Edmond  Ainsley,  who 
was  seated  in  the  second  pew  to  the  right  of  the  middle 
aisle,  half  rose  as  she  bowed  to  the  audience  and  threw 
a  bouquet  of  her  favorite  pansies,  which  fell  at  her  feet, 
thereby  attracting  her  attention.  At  the  sight  of  him 
she  started,  faltered,  and  seemed  about  to  ran  oft  the 
sta£'e,  but  Mr.  Fairish  and  soTne  friends  just  at  this  crit- 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  155 

ical  moment  came  to  the  rescue  by  starting  a  storm  of 
applause,  during  which  she  had  time  to  collect  her  scat 
tered  senses,  and  then  proceeded  with  a  power  and  pa 
thos  which  softened  and  electrified  the  whole  assembly 
in  an  unusual  degree. 

"  An  elocutionist  of  rare  ability  and  culture,"  remarked 
an  old  man,  with  gold-rimmed  spectacles,  as  Echo,  lean 
ing  on  the  arm  of  Farrish,  passed  him  on  her  way  to  the 
supper  table.  "  Too  lovely  for  anything,"  lisped  a  sweet 
sixteen,  to  an  envious  elderly  girl  who  was  superior  in 
nothing  but  years.  "  A  splendid  >  make-up '  which  came 
near  being  a 4  break-up,' "  said  a  gay  belle  to  her  attendant 
who  seemed  to  her  to  be  more  favorably  impressed  with 
the  young  reader  than  was  pleasing.  "  A  perfect  stun 
ner,  'pon  my  soul ! "  This  last  was  a  petit-maitre^  who 
was  seemingly  trying  to  make  up  for  the  deficiency  of 
his  figure  by  the  length  of  his  finely  curved  and  twisted 
mustache.  "  Yes,  she  understands  acting  to  perfection, 
acting  which  has  lost  the  merit  of  novelty  to  me,  how 
ever,"  answered  Ainsley,  purposely  loud  enough  to  be 
heard  by  the  Misses  Richard.  "  How  they  came  to  re 
ceive  her  in  respectable  society  is  an  Americanism  of 
which  I  am  unable  to  account,"  he  added,  shrugging  his 
shoulders. 

"  Oh,  for  the  matter  of  that,"  said  the  petit  maitrc^ 
nonchalantly,  "these  sirens  seemingly  understand  that 
the- charm  of  novelty  is  very  cogent  with  us  gentlemen, 
therefore  they  flourish  for  a  brief  hour.  By-the-way, 
you  must  have  met  that  little  package  of  sweetness  be 
fore.,  else  you  possets  extraordinary  intuition  or  excep- 
ti'ctaal  cottfTdencis  in  your  own  a'cuteness  of  discernment." 


156  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better  postpone  our  present  discus 
sion,  and  not  force  the  blush  of  modesty  to  mount  the 
fair  cheeks  of  those  who  may  chance  to  overhear  our 
remarks,"  said  Ainsley,  filled  with  malicious  amusement, 
as  he  glanced  in  the  direction  of  the  two  listeners,  rightly 
judging  that  he  had  said  all  that  was  necessary  to  blast 
the  reputation  of  a  young  and  handsome  girl  in  Echo's 
situation.  "All  the  knowledge  which  I  have  of  the 
person  under  discussion,  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  added  he, 
hypocritically,  "was  a  short  but  sweet  amour,  begin- 
ing  and  ending,  much  the  same  as  all  youthful  in 
trigues." 

"Really!  Come  Ainsley,  acknowledge  that  you  are 
filled  with  remorse,  not  for  the  amour,  but  for  the  loss 
of  so  fair  an  inamorata.  I  swear,  by  the  nine  gods  of 
Greece!  that  I  will  not  rest  content  until  you  give  me 
an  introduction  to  her." 

When  the  concert  and  its  appendant  feast  were  over, 
Aunt  Newbury  and  Echo,  accompanied  by  their  friend, 
Mr.  Farrish,  no  sooner  entered  their  carriage  than  Ains 
ley,  and  his  twirled  and  twisted  companion,  called  a  pass 
ing  cab  and  followed  them. 

" c  When  found,  make  a  note  of  it," '  said  Ainsley, 
carefully  observing  the  street  and  number  of  the  house 
entered  by  the  ladies,  and  making  a  memorandum  of  it 
in  his  pocket  book,  "  and  thus  do  honor  to  the  manes 
of  the  illustrious  Captain  Cuttle,"  returning  the  book  to 
his  pocket,  and  begging  of  his  vis  a  vis  the  inestimable 
favor  of  a  "  light," 


CHAPTER   XX. 

'HE  week  following  the  entertainment,  Echo 
lost  five  of  her  best  paying  pupils.  The 
grains  of  scandal  dropped  by  Ainsley,  had 
fallen  in  fertile  soil.  That  ancient  mustard- 
seed,  spoken  of  in  Holy  Writ,  which  grew  and  flour 
ished  and  branched  out  enormously.,  was  never  more 
productive. 

The  warmth  of  society's  affection  varies  like  the 
seasons;  consequently,  the  '  summerlings '  of  to-day  may 
be  the  icicles  of  to-morrow.  Intuition  is  a  pretty  good 
barometer,  and  the  Misses  Newbury  felt  a  sudden  change 
in  the  weather  of  friendship.  Without  any  apparent 
cause,  its  mercurial  nineties  dropped  down  to  zero. 

One  dull,  rainy  evening,  about  nine  o'clock,  Echo, 
who  was  returning  from  the  apothecary's,  where  she  had 
gone  to  have  a  prescription  filled  for  Aunt  Newbury, 
left  the  street-car  at  the  depot  nearest  her  residence, 
Wistit  being  her  only  attendant.  After  walking  two  of 
the  four  blocks  which  still  separated  her  from  her  home, 
she  recoiled  with  a  scream  as  a  hand  grasped  the  um 
brella  which  she  was  carrying,  and  another,  its  mate,  fell 
upon  her  shoulder,  while  a  sharp,  falsette  voice  smote 
her  ear  : 

"  An  umbrella  is  entirely  too  cumbersome  for  such  a 
pretty  hand  as  this  to  carry  !" 


158  WHAT    CAME    OP    IT. 

Echo's  first  impulse  was  to  run,  but  as  that  was  an  im 
possible  thing  to  do,  incumbered  as  she  was  with  a  sleepy 
child,  she  recovered  her  presence  of  mind  somewhat,  and 
said,  with  dignity  : 

"  You  are  evidently  mistaken,  sir  !  I  hope  you  will 
have  the  kindness  to  release  me  at  once." 

"  Very  true,  my  girl — spoken  like  a  queen  !"  said  the 
fellow,  with  a  tipsy  leer. 

"  Please,  sir,"  appealed  Echo,  to  a  passing  gentleman, 
"will  you  not  have  the  kindness  to  protect  me  from 
insult  ?" 

"  Ha,  ha  !"  laughed  the  ruffian.  "  Innocence  abroad  ! 
Come,  Pollv,  no  foolishness  with  a  man  you  know!" 
And  he  attempted  to  put  his  arm  about  her  waist. 

At  this  instant  the  gentleman  appealed  to  turned  and 
took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance.  He  said  not  a  word, 
but  the  shapely  arm  in  broadcloth  mail  suddenly  shot 
out,  and  the  wretch  lay  writhing  in  the  dust. 

Echo  gave  a  little  cry  of  delight,  as  she  recognized  in 
her  muscular  deliverer,  Mr.  Farrish,  who  bowed  to  her 
with  grave  courtesy,  offering  his  arm. 

"Allow  me  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  home,  Miss 
Newbury,"  he  said.  "  The  back  streets  of  San  Francisco 
are  never  safe  for  unprotected  ladies  after  dark." 

"  I  thank  you  most  gratefully  for  your  opportune  in 
terference,"  she  said,  accepting  his  escort.  "I  did  not 
recognize  you  at  first,  and  supposed  that  I  was  appealing 
to  the  natural  chivalry  of  some  gentlemanly  stranger. 
We  were  detained  longer  at  the  drug  store  than  we 
expected.  Dear  me,  do  you  think  he  is  dead  ?"  she 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  159 

added,  looking  back,  tremulously,  at  the  prostrate  black 
guard. 

"  Not  dead,  but  sleeping  !"  he  answered,  with  a  laugh, 
as  he  followed  her  fearful  glance.  "  In  fact,  we  might 
erect  some  such  epitaph  as  this  to  his  memory  : 

'  Struck  by  lightning,'  is  the  inscription  on  the  pavement  where 

he  lies, 
Dead  he  is  not,  but  prostrated,  for  the  bummer  never  dies  !" 

'•Really,"  said  Echo,  mirthfully,  "you  are  like  one  of 
those  horrible  modern  inventions  which  do  so  many 
things  at  once.  You  knock  a  man  down  and  then  plas 
ter  him  with  funeral  poetry  with  a  double-back-action 
ease  that  is  astonishing.  It's  a  shame  to  use  Long 
fellow's  pretty  lines  about  Albrecht  Durer,  in  that  con 
nection,  however." 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,  he  will  recover  from  the  blow  soon 
enough,  but  the  poetry  will  almost  assassinate  him,  no 
doubt." 

"  But  how  can  I  ever  thank  you,  and  the  Providence 
which  directed  your  steps  that  way  ?"  said  Echo. 

u  By  never  mentioning  my  part  of  it,  Miss  Echo,  and 
promising  me  to  be  more  careful  hereafter  in  your  trav 
els,"  he  answered,  kindly.  "  Ah,  here  we  are  !" 

Farrish,  by  invitation,  ascended  the  steps  with  Echo 
and  Wistit,  for  he  was  always  welcome  at  the  Newbury 
home. 

Echo,  having  seen  the  gentleman  seated,  excused  her 
self  for  a  moment,  and  retired  to  administer  the  medi 
cines  brought  for  "sister"  Newbury.  She  soon  re 
turned,  saying  : 


l6o  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

"  Sister  is  sleeping  well,  and  I  trust  she  will  be  much 
improved  by  to-morrow." 

"That  is  hopeful,"  said  Mr.  Farrish,  gently.  "But 
I  notice  that  you  are  looking  very  pale."  Then,  with  a 
sudden  impulse,  "Ah,  my  clear,  I  wish  you  were  my 
very  own,  to  love,  protect,  and  cherish  always  I" 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  unconscious  of  intentional  cru 
elty;  "if  fate  had  been  more  kind,  I  might  have  been 
your  daughter." 

"  My  daughter  !"  he  repeated,  dropping  his  hand  in 
consternation. 

"  Why,  my  dear  friend,"  said  she,  smiling  involuntarily 
at  his  manner,  "is  the  thought  so  very  startling,  then  ?" 

"  Startling  ?  No ; — it  were  better  so,  perhaps,  but  I 
was  thinking  of  a  tenderer  bond.  Do  you  think  that  it 
can  never,  never  be  ?"  And  he  advanced  and  laid  his 
hand  gently  upon  hers. 

The  face  of  Echo  flushed  crimson  at  this  appeal,  and, 
softly  disengaging  her  hand  from  his  clasp,  she  answered, 
with  down-cast  eyes  :- 

"  No,'  no  !  It  cannot  be  !  I  have  loved,  and  I  know 
the  agony  of  blighted  affection.  I  like  you  very  much, 
sir,  but  God  help  you,  if  you  love  me  truly  !" 

"  But  you  might  learn  to  love  me,  dear.  The  heart 
loves  because  it  is  its  nature  to  love,  and  it  is  not  fatally 
blighted  by  any  of  the  disappointments  of  life." 

"  It  is  not  so  with  me,  sir.  There  are  plants  that  blos 
som  but  once  in  a  century,  and  hearts  that  love  but  once^ 
Love  is  involuntary.  Were  it  otherwise,  a  mere  matter 
of  option,  I  should  take  pleasure  in  returning  your  af 
fection,  because  " — 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  l6l 

u  Because  what  ?"  he  asked,  as  she  hesitated,  with  a 
smile. 

"Because  I  respect  you,  and  believe  you  to  be  sin 
cere." 

"  Thank  you,  for  that  concession,  at  least,"  he  said.  "  I 
will  not  prose  about  my  attachment,  and  enter  into  a 
philosophical  analysis  of  the  capacities  of  human  hearts, 
but  I  hope  that  you  are  mistaken  as  to  the  dead  blight  of 
your  affections.  So  warm  and  true  a  heart  must  neces 
sarily  love.  I  confess,  ho\vever,  that  I  would  have  all 
the  advantage  in  an  exchange  of  hearts." 

"  Your  last  expression  is  flattering,  but  none  the  less 
sophistical." 

«  Why,  may  I  ask  ?" 

"  It  is  easily  established,  sir.  You  have  money,  friends, 
position,  and  manly  independence,  while  I  have  nothing 
but  the  hard  earnings  of  brain  and  hands.  Even  my 
friends — and  every  one  has  friends — may  be  numbered 
one,  two,  three,"  checking  them  off  on  her  rosy  finger 
tips.  "Then,  recently,  a  chilling  cloud  has  come  over 
my  prospects.  The  social  atmosphere,  so  lately  warm 
and  fragrant,  has  fallen  to  a  wintry  temperature;  my 
acquaintances  have  suddenly  grown  cold — and  for  what 
reason,  I  cannot  divine.  There  must  be  an  enemy  at 
work,  somewhere.  I  am  confident  that  my  character 
has  been  secretly  assailed,  and  I  feel  prostrated  and  help 
less.  The  consciousness  of  innocence  may  sustain  me  in 
the  struggle,  but  it  cannot  compensate  me  for  the  loss  of 
that  good  name  beside  which  the  great  Shakspeare  has 
said  that  shining  lucre  is  but  '  trash/  " 

"Pardon  me,  Miss  Echo;  but  in  reference  to  the  first 


162  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

part  of  your  answer,  I  will  say  that  money,  position, 
friends,  and  all  that,  are  the  merest  trash  in  comparison 
with  the  love  and  wifely  companionship  of  yourself.  As 
to  the  trouble  in  your  social  experiences,  I  have  simply 
to  say  that  the  fact  indicates  your  need  of  the  best  friend 
and  protector  you  can  have  on  earth — a  strong,  true- 
hearted,  loving  husband."  Mr.  Farrish'  face  was  crim 
son  when  he  concluded  these  remarks,  and  his  breath 
rather  short. 

"Upon  such  a  protector,"  she  answered,  with  tender 
pathos,  "  I  could  only  call  in  the  high  and  holy  name  of 
love.  As  to  the  inestimable  value  of  my  companionship, 
you  should  be  more  reasonable." 

"  In  affairs  of  the  heart,  one  needs  a  more  subtle  and 
unselfish  guide  than  reason." 

"  There  I  agree  with  you — that  is,  if  reason,  which  is 
said  to  be  the  chief  attribute  of  man,  causes  him  to  be  so 
inconstant." 

"  As  for  that,  Miss  Echo,  women  usually  worship  cer 
tain  ideal  characteristics,  mostly  mere  abstractions  and 
impossibilities,  which  they  attribute  to  the  men  of  their 
choice,  while  men,  more  reasonable,  certainly  in  this, 
bow  before  the  force  of  beauty,  which,  while  it  lasts,  is  a 
reality,  and,  departing,  ordinarily  leaves  its  devotee  too 
far  gone  for  a  relapse — to  say  nothing  of  moral  and  in 
tellectual  excellencies  that  remain — with  a  power  of  en 
chantment  borrowed  from  the  faded  bloom." 

"I  am  not  so  certain  about  that.  The  common  expe 
rience  of  men,  is,  that  beauty  is  a  false  light  on  a  treach 
erous  shore.  But  all  this  is  neither  here  nor  there.  I 
Want  to  be  candid  and  considerate  with  you  concerning 


WHAT  CAME  OF  IT\  16$ 

the  delicate  subject  you  have  introduced.  I  want  you  to 
see  my  heart  as  it  is.  As  your  wife,  I  should  undoubtedly 
occupy  an  honorable  and  easeful  position,  but  the  con 
tract  would  be  wholly  wanting  in  the  necessary  consid 
eration  from  me.  Such  contracts  melt  into  contentions, 
and  nre  concluded  by  divorces.  Should  I  so  bestrew  the 
quiet  of  your  future  with  sour  fruits  of  discord,  you 
would  soon  learn  to  hate  me.  The  most  barren  poverty 
or  direful  misfortune  in  the  power  of  circumstance  to  in 
flict,  shall  never  force  me  into  a  contract  in  which  I 
should  lose  my  own  self-respect.  Had  it  pleased  God  to 
have  granted  me  such  a  father  or  brother  as  yourself,  I 
should  have  indeed  been  blessed.  As  a  friend,  you  shall 
ever  have  the  first  place  in  my  affections.  Though  I 
respect  and  honor  you  greatly,  yet  the  thought  of  mar 
riage  is  too  extremely  repulsive  to  be  entertained  for  a 
moment;  and  though  the  truth  sometimes  seems  un 
palatable  and  harsh,  yet,  believe  me,  dear  sir,  it  had  best 
be  spoken.  You  must  try  and  understand  me,  and  not 
wholly  withdraw  your  sympathy  in  withdrawing  your 
suit  for  a  worthless  hand.  From  my  earliest  remem 
brance  there  has  been  a  blank  in  my  life  which  parents 
alone  could  fill — a  sort  of  innate  longing  for  a  mother's 
peculiar  love  and  a  father's  tender  care.  Strive  as  we 
may,  there  are  times  when  nature  cries  out  mightily 
against  such  deprivement.  The  cold  philosophy  of  not 
grieving  for  the  inevitable,  may  be  abstractly  correct, 
but  it  is  surely  not  practically  useful  to  the  human 
heart." 

As  the  truth-freighted  voice  ceased,  the   long,  fringed, 
drooping  lids  were  slowly  lifted  from  Leathean  eyeS| 


164  WHAT    CAME    OF    if. 

within  whose  magnetic  depths  the  gazer  found  oblivion. 

To  Farrish,  Echo  never  looked  more  bewitchingly  beau- 
'  tiful  than  as  she  sat  there  with  her  elbow  resting  on  the 

arm  of  her  chair,  and  her  head  bowed   on  her  shapely 

hand.  Between  this  fair  young  girl  of  eighteen  and 
this  man  of  forty-five,  there  existed  a  strong  attachment. 
On  her  part  there  was  a  reverential  regard,  more  felt 
than  understood,  while  on  his  part  there  was  a  worship 
ful  compassion  for  her  tender  years  and  hard  lot. 

A  few  minutes  passed  in  which  Farrish  arose,  then 
suddenly  'sank  back  in  his  chair,  as  if  overcome  with 
emotion.  While  involuntarily  running  his  white  fingers 
through  a  mass  of  dark  hair,  he  broke  the  silence  by 
saying,  respectfully  : 

"You  have  been  frank,  Miss  Echo;  I  will  be  no  less 
so.  Conscience  forbids  my  taking  advantage  of  your  in 
experience.  Such  friendship,  as  you  seem  to  desire,  exist 
ing  between  a  man  of  the  world,  such  as  I  am,  and  a  beau 
tiful  young  girl  in  your  situation,  would  be  more  detri 
mental  than  beneficial.  This  world  is  full  of  evil-thinkers, 
as  well  as  evil-doers;  such  are  utterly  incapable  of  com 
prehending  true  friendship.  In  my  estimation  the  man, 
who,  for  the  pleasure  of  a  woman's  company,  would 
compromise  her  good  name,  is  a  selfish  villain,  unworthy 
of  her  notice.  I  sought  you  at  first,  as  a  man  of  the 
world,  bent  upon  his  own  pleasure,  would  naturally  seek 
a  lovely  young  girl.  Your  innocent  frankness  at  first 
bewildered,  then  disarmed  me,  while  your  unprotected 
condition  appealed  to  my  better  nature.  You  see  before 
you  a  man  whose  faith  in  the  purity  of  woman  had  been 
violently  shattered,  one  who,  in  fact,  regarded  her  as  a 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  165 

boy  usually  regards  a  painted  toy.  In  you  I  found  a 
living  demonstration  of  feminine  goodness,  as  inward 
purity  steals  out  like  some  subtle  ether  and  envelops  the 
actions  of  every-day  life.  The  necessity  of  our  separation 
seems  almost  unbearable,  and  though  the  breaking  up  of 
our  present  friendly  intercourse  would  be  a  loss  to  me 
irretrievable,  yet,  should  it  continue,  your  reputation 
would  suffer — and  it  must  be." 

While  encountering  the  earnest,  sympathetic  gaze  of 
her  companion,  two  great  tears  rolled  slowly  down  the 
soft,  flushed  cheeks  of  Echo,  and  fell  upon  her  lap  un 
heeded,  as  she  somewhat  pathetically  expostulated  : 

"  Must  it,  then,  indeed  be  broken  up  ?  Why,  sir,  your 
cheery  company  has  been  to  me  what  that  delicate 
flower  growing  in  its  rocky  crevice  is  said  to  have 

o  o  J 

been  to  Mungo  Park  as  he  wearily  lay  down  in  the 
desert  to  die.  Is  there  to  be  no  more  of  those  friendly 
walks  and  drives,  those  familiar  talks  in  which  thought 
called  forth  thought,  and  the  storehouse  of  your  mind 
gave  '  forth  its  goodly  treasures  ?  Is  it  right  that  I 
should  be  deprived  of  a  friendship  so  tenderly  com 
passionate,  so  divinely  good,  so  helpful  to  my  ig 
norance  ?  Are  those  quiet  evening  hours  which  were 
BO  refreshing,  after  days  of  toil,  to  have  no  existence 
but  in  memory  ?  Are  not  the  needs  of  the  heart  as  great 
as  those  of  the  body  and  the  mind,  and  human  sympathy 
as  precious  to  the  weary,  struggling  soul,  as  water  to  the 
traveler  in  the  desert  ?  I,  then,  bow  to  the  dire  necessity 
of  a  separation,  brought  about  by  a  society  of  evil-think 
ers,  who  frown  down  upon  me  sorely  on  account  of  cir 
cumstances  over  which  I  have  no  control,  and  who  not 


t66  WHAT  CAME  or  IT. 

only  ostracise  me  from  their  one  circle,  but  also  invade 
the  associations  of  my  home.  Charity  !  charity  !  where 
is  thy  dwelling  place  ?  The  only  treasure  poverty 
affords  is  friendship.  Robhed  of  that,  nothing  remains 
but  the  hard  fact  of  a  barren  existence,  and  a  little  self- 
respect,  perhaps,  which  goads  one  on  to  observe  life's 
most  common  proprieties,  however  hateful." 

"  My  dear,  impulsive  child,"  said  Fairish,  arising  and 
taking  her  hand  tenderly,  "the  conventionalities  of  so 
ciety  are  inexorable,  and  must  be  observed.  Ah,  my 
dear,  you  had  better  reconsider  your  first  decision,  and 
give  me  the  right  to  shield  and  cherish  you." 

Oh,  why  did  Echo's  heart  beat  so  wildly  ?  Her  feel 
ing  for  this  man  was  not  to  be  compared  to  that  being, 
instinctive  passion,  which  she  had  experienced  for  Ho- 
berg ;  and  yet  this  parting  fell  as  heavily  upon  her  throb 
bing  heart  as  did  the  sound  of  the  first  clods  which  fell 
on  her  grandmother's  coffin. 

"  No,  no,  no  !"  said  Echo,  in  tones  vibrating  with  emo 
tion,  as  she  also  rose.  "  Do  not  tempt  me,  for  I  have  an 
inward  monitor  which  constrains  me  from  entering  into 
a  marriage  contract  with  one  while  loving  another,  and 
that  other  still  living.  I  do  not  wish  to  dictate  to  others; 
but  as  for  myself,  I  must  be  '  firm  in  the.  right  as  God 
gives  me  to  see  the  right '  in  the  present,  regardless  of 
future  consequences." 

"  Oh,  fairest,  and  best,  and  sweetest  of  woman  kind  !" 
cried  Farrish,  in  a  voice  of  impassioned  tenderness,  "  I 
honor  your  motive,  while  deprecating  your  sacrifices, 
and  should  future  events  cause  you  to  change  your  pres 
ent  decision,  you  can  always  hear  from  me  by  dropping 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  l 

ine  a  line  through  my  solicitor.  The  lateness  of  the 
hour  forces  me  into  saying  good-night  and  good-bye  in 
two  successive  breaths." 

As  Farrish  clasped  Echo's  extended  hand,  their  eyes 
met ;  his  were  full  of  earnest  entreaty.  But  her's,  though 
tear-suffused,  shone  with  a  steadfast  purpose.  Farrish 
suddenly  bent  his  head  and  gravely  touched  Echo's  fore 
head  with  his  lips,  then  rather  reluctantly  resigned  her 
hand  and  was  gone  in  another  moment,  after  pausing  at 
the  door  and  regarding  her  with  a  look  which  is  not 
often  given  except  to  the  dead,  and  then  only  when  the 
coffin  lid  is  about  to  close  upon  them  forever. 

"  Dear  God  !"  was  the  impassioned  cry  which  involun 
tarily  burst  from  Echo's  lips,  "  give  me  wisdom  to  know, 
and  strength  to  do,  the  risjht." 


CHAPTER   XXL 

^CHO,  wrapped  in  thought,  stood  perfectly  still 
fully  ten  minutes  after  Farrish's  footsteps  had 
died  away  in  the  distance.  She  thought,  with 
"V'T  dismay,  of  the  displeasure  of  Miss  Newbury, 
who  seemed  to  favor  Farrish's  suit,  and  the  loss  of  his 
cheerful  company  weighed  no  less  heavily  upon  her  over 
charged  spirit.  Thoughts  of  the  insult  which  she  had 
received  that  evening  brought  a  flush  of  indignation  to 
her  face,  while  the  loss  of  her  pupils  and  the  increasing 
coldness  of  the  members  of  the  Church  to  which  the 
nurse,  her  fictitious  sister,  belonged,  and  that  of  the  choir 
also,  where  she,  herself,  was  in  the  habit  of  singing, 
chilled  her  with  no  small  apprehension. 

As  the  little  time-piece  on  the  mantle  chimed  out  the 
hour  of  eleven,  Echo  entered  the  room  from  which  pro 
ceeded  a  slight  noise,  and  found  the  nurse  awake  and 
feeling  better. 

"  You  are  surely  sick,  yourself,  child,"  was  her  first 
salutation  to  Echo,  "  that  is,  if  looks  are  to  be  trusted," 
she  gravely  added. 

"  Pray,  do  not  give  yourself  unnecessary  alarm,  dear 
sister,"  replied  Echo,  while  straightening  the  covering 
of  the  bed,  smiling  pleasantly. 

"  Some  one  rang  the  door-bell  about  half  an  hour  after 
the  departure  of  yourself  and  Wistit.  I  am  not  sure 


WHAT   CAME    OF    IT.  169 

who  it  was,  of  course,  as  I  was  unable  to  attend,  but  pre 
sumed  it  to  be  Mr.  Farrish." 

"  That  lady  whom  you  wished  me  to  see,  personally, 
kept  us  waiting  more  than  hour.  We  were  then  forced 
to  return  without  the  money.  We  were  also  detained 
at  the  apothecary's  a  short  time.  In  consequence  of  the 
lateness  of  the  hour  I  experienced  no  small  difficulty  in 
keeping  Wistit  sufficiently  awake  to  move.  In  all  prob 
ability  you  were  wrong  in  your  presumption  in  regard 
to  Farrish,  as  he  met  and  escorted  us  home  without 
mentioning  the  fact  of  having  called  before  this  evening," 
said  Echo,  in  explanation. 

"  I  think  that  he  is  almost  on  the  point  of  making  you 
a  proposal  of  marriage,  Echo,  dear,  and  I  \vould  advise 
you  to  accept,"  hazarded  the  nurse.  "  To  be  frank,  he 
intimated  as  much  to  me  some  weeks  ago,  but  I  advised 
him  to  wait." 

"  It  is  time  that  you  were  taking  your  medicine,  sister," 
said  Echo,  with  irrelevant  tenderness. 

"  Pray  have  no  hesitancy  in  ringing  the  bell  in  case 
you  need  anything,"  she  added,  as  she  kissed  the  nurse 
good-night.  After  reading  a  chapter  from  the  Bible  —  a 
nightly  free-will  offering  to  the  Father  —  Echo  entered 
the  adjoining  room,  leaving  the  door  of  communication 
open.  Then  lying  down,  she  gathered  the  sleeping 
child,  Wistit,  to  her  aching  heart,  and  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  appeared  to  be  comforted  thereby. 

In  the  silence  and  darkness  of  the  night  one  is  often 
startled  with  spontaneous  thoughts  which  come  and 
go  like  dreams.  That  night  the  returning  stream  of 
memory  sent  forth  before  Echo's  mental  vision  a  reflec- 


170  XVHAT  CAME  OF  IT. 

tion,  as  it  were,  from  that  picture  of  her  unknown  father 
which  had  been  taken  in  his  boyhood.  As  this  reflection 
.vanished,  that  of  Farrish's  face  took  its  place,  and  she  was 
startled  at  the  resemblance  existing  between  the  smooth 
faced,  beautiful  boy  and  that  of  the  man,  bearded  and 
handsome.  Ah!  were  one  but  wise  enough  to  heed 
these  inspired  thoughts  which,  like  the  wind,  are  felt  but 
not  seen,  whose  action  all  behold,  but  whose  source  is 
unknown ! 

As  thought  goes  keenly  searching  through  that  mys 
terious  repository  where  past  events  lie  covered,  how 
often  does  it  shudderingly  turn  away  from  that  cemetery 
by  whose  monuments  acts  are  perpetuated  which  their 
doer  would  fain  obliterate.  Are  not  those  silent  chron 
icles  to  be  the  book  of  God's  remembrance  ?  and  every 
immortal  stone  reared  in  that  awful  graveyard  ol  mem 
ory  a  witness  which  shall  condemn  or  exculpate  its 
builder  at  the  Judgment?  If,  as  has  been  asserted,  the 
mind  does  not  relax  from  its  functions  when  the  body  is 
in  a  state  of  rest,  why  may  not  this  indwelling  god  — • 
this  discerner  of  good  and  evil  —  live  on  independent  of 
its  corporeal  body  ?  Surely,  the  all-wise  God  and  subtile 
serpent  are  both  reported  in  the  third  chapter  of  Genesis 
to  have  declared  that  a  knowledge  of  good  and  evil 
made  man  god-like.  Moreover,  does  not  the  case  also 
specified  in  Holy  Writ,  where  man  is  called  to  render 
an  account  of  imparted  talents  at  the  day  of  reckoning 
hint  of  the  mind's  progression  in  a  life  beyond  ? 

At  seven  o'clock,  the  following  morning,  Echo  awoke. 
She  arose  and  dressed  with  care,  for  she  was  regularly 
neat  in  matters  pertaining  to  her  toilet. 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  I <]l 

As  plants  are  easily  distinguished  by  their  leaves,  so 
are  women  by  their  outward  adornings.  The  richest 
apparel,  if  carelessly  donned,  would  not  be  as  adequate 
to  the  purpose  of  attracting  and  impressing  the  thought 
ful  as  less  presumptuous  garments,  properly  adjusted. 
The  beauty  of  one's  dress  consists  more  in  its  suitable 
ness  to  the  style  of  the  wearer  than  its  fineness  of  tex 
ture  or  brilliancy  of  color,  and  a  woman  who  carefully 
studies  herself  and  surroundings  is  never  ill-dressed,  how 
ever  small  her  income. 

"  Well,  how  are  you  feeling  this  morning  ?"  pleasantly 
asked  Echo,  who,  upon  entering  the  adjoining  room, 
found  the  nurse  awake  and  sitting  up  in  bed. 

"  Almost  well.  The  pain  has  vanished  in  the  night 
time  like  the  famed  palace  of  Aladdin,"  replied  the  nurse, 
who  had  been  suffering  from  a  severe  spell  of  inflamma 
tory  rheumatism,  "  so  I  shall  arise  and  go  to  the  break 
fast  table  with  alacrity." 

Not  till  the  breakfast  had  been  prepared  and  eaten, 
Wistit  washed  and  dressed,  and  the  house  tidied,  and  ev 
erything  in  order,  did  Echo  see  fit  to  reveal  last  eve 
ning's  occurrences  to  the  nurse. 

After  they  were  cosily  seated,  Echo  busily  engaged 
on  a  hood  which  she  was  knitting  in  biroche  stitch  for 
Wistit,  while  the  nurse,  seated  in  an  easy-chair,  was  no 
less  busy  on  a  pair  of  slippers  that  she  was  embroidering 
for  one  of  her  lady  patrons,  did  Echo  broach  the  subject 
which  lay  uppermost  in  her  mind  just  then,  by  saying, 
"  I  was  grossly  insulted  on  my  return  last  night." 

"  By  whom  ?"  queried  the  nurse,  indignantly. 


172  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

Echo's   cheeks    reddened    slightly,   "By   a   man,   of 
course." 

"Say  a  brute,  rather!  But  relate  the  affair  just  as  it 
occurred." 

Echo  began:  "  After  leaving  the  car  and  proceeding 
a  short  distance,  I  was  startled  by  a  hand  grasping  my 
umbrella  and  another  being  laid  upon  my  shoulder,  while 
a  voice  half  whispered  something  about  the  weight  of 
the  umbrella  being  too  heavy  for  my  hand.  I  was  too 
badly  frightened  to  catch  the  exact  words.  It  was  rain 
ing  heavily.  The  street  was  dark  and  almost  deserted, 
the  wind  soughed  dismally,  and,  if  I  was  afraid  before, 
how  much  more  so  then?  As  soon  as  possible  I  replied, 
telling  him  that  he  should  never  address  a  lady  without 
being  sure  of  her  identity.  Receiving  an  insulting  re 
ply,  I  appealed  to  a  passing  gentleman  for  protection. 
Judge  of  my  relief  on  recognizing  the  voice  of  our  friend 
Farrish  as  he  replied  to  some  more  of  the  man's  remarks 
by  knocking  him  down,  and  I  do  not  know  as  he  was 
able  to  get  up  again,"  she  added,  raising  her  soft  eyes  to 
the  nurse's,  in  troubled  doubt. 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped  not,"  answered  the  latter,  spitefully. 
"  A  brute  acknowledges  no  law  but  that  of  force." 

"  And  yet  one  should  pity  them  after  they  are  con 
quered.  Suffering,  by  no  matter  whom  or  what,  ever 
calls  for  commiseration,"  continued  Echo,  carefully 
picking  up  the  stitches  all  along  the  back  of  the  hood 
upon  which  she  was  engaged. 

u  Humbug ! "  exclaimed  the  nurse  rather  fiercely,  stab 
bing  the  needle  in  and  out  the  cloth  she  was  working. 
"  For  all  suffering  there  is  a  cause.  Two-thirds  of  all 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  173 

the  miseries  of  this  world  could  be  avoided  by  the  exer 
cise  of  reason,  coupled  with  a  little  self-command.  In 
my  humble  opinion,  involuntary  sufferers  should  have 
the  fullest  commiseration,  as  it  is  only  by  pain  and  toil 
that  the  majority  of  mankind  can  be  taught  wisdom. 
Think,  for  instance,"  she  jocularly  resumed,  "  of  a  lazy, 
sluggish  set  of  Adams  and  Eves  fooling  around  the 
garden  of  Eden  with  nothing  to  do  but  kill  time  — 
no  motive  whatever  to  exercise  that  God-given  faculty, 
the  mind !  Why,  even  the  mute  creation  would  have 
been  their  superiors,  and  alas,  for  the  day  of  elevated 
manhood,  they  had  been  without  the  trick  of  mixing 
mint-juleps  as  they  lounged  around  vacantly,  and  with  no 
money  to  bet  on  the  merits  of  the  various  animals  strag 
gling  by  !  Moreover,  awful  to  contemplate,  there  had 
been  no  corner  saloons  before  which  men  could  congre 
gate  and  chew  their  cigar-stubs  while  they  canvassed  the 
beauties  and  frailties  of  passing  ladies. 

The  idea  of  women  having  no  children  to  care  for, 
no  trowsers  to  mend,  or  carpets  to  protect  from  sun  and 
stains  !  Finally,  most  weighty  consideration  of  all,  there 
had  been  no  sailing  down  the  church  aisle  of  a  Sunday, 
full-rigged,  colors  flying,  unmindful,  perhaps,  of  the 
buzzing  and  neck-stretching  on  either  side  the  restless 
stream. 

Jmagine,  if  you  can,  the  angels  rushing  around  wait 
ing  on  those  great,  indolent,  overgrown  hulks  of  babies, 
who,  if  not  furnished  a  substitute  for  breathing,  would 
have  ceased  to  live  through  pure  inertness.  I  re 
member  an  anecdote  illustrative  of  the  subject:  An 
Indiana  farmer,  going  one  day  into  the  harvest-field, 


174  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

saw  five  of  his  hands  lying  supinely  under  a  shade- 
tree,  though  noon  had  long  since  passed.  With  a 
merry  twinkle  in  his  eye  he  approached  the  group 
saying,  as  he  took  a  greenback  from  his  pocket, 
4  Here  are  ten  dollars  for  the  laziest  man  in  this 
crowd.'  While  four  of  the  men  sprang  to  their  feet, 
each  claiming  his  right  to  the  money,  the  fifth  lay  per 
fectly  still,  without  so  much  as  moving  a  muscle.  4 1  think 
that  this  fellow  has  given  us  the  most  convincing  de 
monstration,'  said  the  farmer,  extending  the  bill  towards 
the  man.  4  Won't  you  put  it  in  my  pocket?'  drawled  out 
that  worthy,  rolling  on  his  side.' " 

Echo,  much  amused,  laughed  heartily,  for  the  droll 
ery  of  the  nurse's  manner  and  argument  were  not  to  be 
withstood. 

"  If  one-half  of  the  wasted  pity  and  charity  were 
discriminately  dispensed  among  those  who  are  really 
worthy  creatures  of  circumstances,  the  world  would  be 
gainer  thereby,"  the  nurse  more  gravely  continued  — 
"  The  man  or  woman  who  has  most  thoroughly  learned 
the  lesson  that  under  all  ordinary  events,  self-help  is  the 
most  reliable  efficacious  and  sustaining  of  all  helps,  is  al 
most  sure  to  make  his  or  her  mark  in  the  world." 

Silence  fell  between  them,  which  was  broken  by  the 
kind  inquiry  of  the  nurse : 

"  Are  you  well,  Echo? " 

The  heavily-fringed  lids  opened  wide,  then  drooped 
suddenly  over  the  luminous  dark  eyes  as  she  answered 
samewhat  abruptly  — 

"  Certainly,  but  why  do  you  ask  ? " 


WHAT   CAME    OF    IT.  1^5 

"  On  account  of  your  increased  paleness  and  seeming 
abstraction." 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?" 

"  All,  unless  you  wish  to  disclose  more,"  said  the  other 
reproachfully. 

Echo  smiled  but  answered  not. 

"You  must  remember,  continued  the  nurse,  "that  mu 
tual  confidence  is  conducive  to  friendship.  Just  as  you 
please,  however." 

"  Echo  blushed  painfully,  while  the  delicate  scarlet  lips 
tremulously  articulated  —  "Mr.  Farrish  made  a  propo 
sal  of  marriage  last  night." 

"You  accepted,  of  course?" 

"No." 

The  nurse,  looking  at  Echo  in  utter  bewilderment, 
slowly  ejaculated,  "Is  —  it  —  possible?" 

"  It  is  my  friend." 

"  The  ground  of  your  objection,  please  ?  " 

Echo,  drooping  her  eyelids  demurely,  answered  softly, 
"  The  strongest  in  the  world  —  want  of  proper  affection." 

"  You  amaze  me ! " 

"Why  so,  pray?  " 

"  You  surely  loved  that  man  ? " 

"  As  a  very  dear  friend,  only,  in  the  same  way  that  I 
love  you,  dear  nurse." 

"  He  is  rich,  handsome,  wise  and  loving ;  what  more 
can  you  desire  ?"  said  the  nurse,  much  disturbed. 

Echo's  face  expressed  varying  emotions,  while  the  fit 
ful  color,  in  its  ebb  and  flow,  was  charming  as  she 
raised  her  resplendently  lovely  eyes  to  those  of  her  com 
panion,  and  rerplied  with  solemn  pathos : 


176  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

"  What  equivalent  have  I  to  give  for  the  possessions 
which  you  have  named  ?  A  body  devoid  of  a  heart ;  a 
will  forced  into  wedlock;  a  mind  teeming  with  inbred 
thoughts  of  another!  Is  this  marriage?  Bah!  me- 
thinks  that  the  very  ink  would  pale  and  fade  from  the 
'  license '  when  touched  by  the  acid  of  truth.  Is  wedlock 
but  a  summer  cloud  that  it  needs  no  sustaining  truth? 
Know  you  not  that  a  bond,  light  as  a  gossamer  web  in 
seeming,  can  be  made  as  heavy  and  rough  for  the  sensi 
tive  soul  as  a  criminal's  clanking  chain — to  be  broken  by 
violence  only  ?  Oh,  these  broken  contracts !  these  heart 
aches!  whence  come  they?  From  want  of  understand 
ing,  surely.  Love  bridles  the  passions  and  gently  guides 
the  feelings  of  the  truly  married  into  verdure-clad  fields 
of  pleasantness." 

A  sweet  light  stole  into  the  softened  face  of  the  nurse, 
as  she  answered : 

"  I  was  in  fault,  darling,  and  you  must  forgive  me.  A 
marriage  of  convenience  is  simply  legalized  prostitution." 

Echo  left  her  seat,  and,  approaching  the  nurse,  kissed 
her  with  reassured  affection,  saying,  "  You,  Wistit,  and 
I  will  be  sufficient  unto  each  other.  "We  will  practice 
the  strictest  economy,  and,  in  a  sliort  time  we  will  have 
money  enough  to  purchase  a  few  acres  of  land  some 
where  on  the  bay,  and  we  will  have  a  little  Arcadia  of 
our  own,  raking  fruits,  vegetables  and  the  like  for  the 
city  market.  It  would  be  a  dear,  reposeful,  happy  life, 
and  I  am  very  weary  of  San  Francisco.  Really,  nurse, 
the  thought  is  an  inspired  one.  '  We  will  be  rich  and 
contented,  if  hot  c  happily  married,'  as  the  novelists  say. 
Come,  dear,  is  it  not  a  scheme  among  ten  thousand  ? " 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  iyy 

"  It  is  a  pleasing  picture,  Echo,  and  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  your  Arcadia  is  attainable." 

"  And  will  there  be  flowers,  and  butterflies,  and  cher 
ries,  and  swings,  and  things  ? "  said  Wistit,  in  tumult 
uous  excitement,  her  eyes  dilated,  as  she  approached  the 
knees  of  Echo. 

"  Yes,  pet,  all  these  —  a  garden  of  beauty  and  of  love," 
and  the  young  girl's  hand  stroked  the  hair  of  the  "  mith  ' 
erless  bairn  "  with  angelic  softness. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

OME  twenty  minutes  after  entering  her  own 
apartments,  and  dismissing  her  maid  for  the 
night,  Zarina  securely  fastened  her  door,  and 
softly  stealing  clown  the  stairs,  let  herself  out 
into  the  garden.  Raising  her  skirts  in  her  hand,  and 
peering  cautiously  over  and  around  the  shrubbery  in 
whose  shadowr  she  was  keeping,  she  made  her  way 
with  the  greatest  possible  speed  to  the  most  secluded  and 
uncultivated  spot  in  the  enclosure. 

The  light  of  the  moon  was  obstructed  at  intervals  by 
floating  clouds.  The  arbor  was  made  dim  and  cool  by 
the  density  of  its  green  surroundings  even  when  the  sun 
shone  its  brighest.  To-night  it  was  particularly  dark, 
gloomy  and  chilly. 

"  Five  minutes  past  nine,"  murmured  La  Croix,  while 
consulting  his  watch  by  the  light  of  a  match.  "  Glad 
that  my  divinity  is  usually  punctual.  Deucedly  dumpish 
trysting  place  this  ! "  with  a  yawn. 

After  an  interval  of  about  ten  minutes,  the  count  re 
moved  the  cigar  from  his  mouth,  and  bent  his  head  to 
listen. 

"  It  is  the  rustic  of  her  garments  !"  exclaimed  he. 
"No,  'twas  but  the  wind  among  the  trees,"  he  reluc 
tantly  corrected,  after  a  moment  of  earnest  expectancy. 

«  What  m  the  name  of  Vemis  keeps  her  ?"  he  rather 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  179 

impatiently  ejaculated.  "  She  was  not  wont  to  have  me 
waiting.  I  presume,  however,"  he  added,  arising  and 
walking  backward  and  forward  through  the  rather  nar 
row  frescade  which  led  to  the  arbor,  "  that  the  pulse  of 
time,  seemingly,  beats  more  sluggishly  here  than  else 
where." 

The  branches  of  the  trees  on  either  side  of  the  walk 
interlaced,  forming  a  leafy  barrier  through  which  the 
chill  air  crept  regardless  of  its  murmurings. 

Just  as  his  patience  became  thoroughly  exhausted,  the 
keen  eyes  of  the  count  discerned  what  seemed  to  be  a 
shade  within  a  shade,  or  as  it  were  a  little  black  cloud 
scudding  across  the  face  of  its  lighter  neighbor. 

As  the  cry  of  a  bird  smote  the  air,  the  count  hesitated 
no  longer,  but  sprang  forward  and  in  another  moment 
clasped  the  swiftly  moving  shadow  in  his  arms. 

"  Have  I  kept  you  waiting  ?" 

"  An  age  !"  kissing  her. 

"  How  long  ?" 

"  An  hour  in  reality,  an  eternity  in  seeming,"  whisper 
ed  the  count,  leading  Zarina  into  the  arbor,  and  seating 
her  in  a  large  rustic  chair  and  placing  himself  beside  her. 

"  This  place  is  dark  and  chill  as  a  dungeon,"  said  she, 
shivering. 

"  It  was,"  said  the  count,  gathering  her  more  closely  to 
himself,  "  until  warmed  and  lighted  by  your  presence." 

"  Is  that  really  so,  prince  of  my  heart  ?"  inquired  she, 
laying  her  cheek  caressingly  against  his. 

"  Can  you  doubt  it,  life  of  my  soul  r"  said  the  count, 
replying  to  one  question  by  asking  another. 

44  Demonstrations  are  conclusive,"  said  she,  smilingly, 


iSo  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

and  patting  him  on  the  cheek  with  her  soft,  white  hand. 
"  Do  you  know,  count,"  she  resumed  after  a  slight  pause, 
"  that  I  have  a  peculiar  request  to  make  of  you  ?" 

"  Your  lips  are  more  potent  than  Mordecai's  golden 
scepter  ;  so  draw  near  and  touch,  and  thy  request,  no 
matter  what  it  be,  is  granted  already,"  said  he  gaily. 

"  A  bai'gain,"  kissing  him.  "  I  shall  demand  the  ful 
fillment  of  your  promise,  remember  !  You  are  probably 
aware  that  Monsieur  Legrand  holds  a  small  fortune  in 
his  own  right." 

"  So  it  is  reported,  but  what  has  that  to  do  with  queen 
Echo's  request  ?" 

"  Much,  as  you  shall  see.  You  have  also  noticed  his 
failing  health  ?" 

"  Yes,"  with  the  utmost  indifference. 

"  Well,  his  physician  privately  informed  mamma  yes 
terday  that  he  was  liable  to  drop  off  at  any  moment." 

"  A  sorry  drop  for  him,  but  no  concern  of  ours,  how 
ever." 

"  You  will  change  your  mind,  no  doubt,  when  I  in 
form  you  that  he  has  made  a  will  in  my  favor." 

"Ah!"  interrupted  the  count,  immediately  showing 
signs  of  interest. 

"  Though  an  estate,  when  held  at  the  will  of  another, 
is  the  flimsiest  of  legal  estates,  yet,  I  do  not  think  this 
one  at  all  liable  to  slip  from  my  hands  if  a  certain  frailty 
of  his  character  is  not  provoked." 

"  Which  is  jealousy,"  hazarded  the  count. 

"Right,"  asserted  she,  "and  should  you  cease  your  at 
tentions  to  myself  suddenly,  it  would,  I  fear,  cause  com 
ments;  therefore,  I  request  that  you  leave  the  city  for 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  iSl 

about  three  months.  By  that  time  Monsieur  Legrand 
will  have  entered  '  The  Valley  of  Blessing,'  thrice  blessed 
to  us,  surely,  and  the  road  will  be  clear." 

The  count's  answer  was  a  prolonged  whistle. 

"Not  for  a  fortune,  count?"  reminded  Echo,  coax- 
ingly. 

"  Three  months — banished — from  Paris — from  you — 
an  eternity  rather.  Paris  —  you  —  mon  Dieu!  .what 
more  of  life  ?  what  more  of  heaven  ? " 

"  Oh,  be  reasonable ! "  exclaimed  Zarina.  "  In  staying, 
you  not  only  foolishly  venture  the  loss  of  monsieur's  small 
fortune,  but,  in  all  probability,  my  own  heritage ;  as  Le 
grand  will  use  his  influence  with  mamma  to  have  the 
greater  part  of  his  large  estate  willed  to  charitable  insti 
tutions  if  I  persist  in  my  present  absurd  infatuation,  as 
he  calls  it.  Your  friends  seem  to  have  but  one  opinion, 
and  that  is,  that  you  will  marry  for  money  only. 
Mamma  has  repeatedly  asserted  that  she  will  never  con 
sent  for  me  to  wed  a  fortune-hunter  —  so,  for  my  part,  I 
think  the  chances  of  monsieur's  success  to  be  good,  es 
pecially  if  her  ladyship  should  put  into  practice  her  pet 
idea  of  humanizing  the  masses  and  make  an  example  of 
herself  by  unlocking  her  vaults,  maintaining  that  money 
should  be  in  circulation  among  the  many,  not  hoarded 
by  the  few." 

"The  devil  take  him!"  involuntarily  muttered  the 
count  between  his  teeth. 

"As  for  the  matter  of  that,  dear  count,  his  satanic 
majesty,  perhaps,  needs  a  breathing  spell,  as  it  certainly 
requires  a  prodigious  amount  of  activity,  to  say  nothing 
of  strategy,  to  keep  from  being  out-maneuvered,  and 


l82  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

therefore,  superseded,  by  some  aspiring  mundane 
wrestler." 

"  Really,  I  must  not  stay  a  moment  longer,"  she  ad 
ded,  rising.  "As  I  retired  under  the  plea  of  headache, 
her  ladyship  may  chance  to  enter  my  room  before  bed 
time.  So  what  say  you  to  my  proposition?" 

"  On  one  condition,  only,  will  I  accede." 

"  Well !  time  flies.     What  is  it  ? " 

"  It  is,"  said  the  count,  offering  her  his  arm  and  es 
corting  her  outside  the  arbor,  "  that  we  be  married  in 
this  arbor,  clandestinely,  to-morrow  night." 

u  Afon  Dieu!"  exclaimed  she,  stopping  short  in  her 
walk  with  surprise,  then  murmured : 

"  The  long  coveted  title  is  offered  me  at  last.  Would 
that  I  could  accept  it!  Why  not?  Bah!  that  would 
be  bigamy,  and  bigamy  is  a  crime  punished  by  impris 
onment.  'Nothing  venture,  nothing  gain,'  however; 
besides,  after  giving  Legrand  the  coup  de grace,  the  first 
marriage  will  be  a  thing  of  the  past.  What  matters  it 
whether  it  be  a  few  days  before  or  afterwards.  In  fact, 
the  sin  lies  not  in  the  doing,  but  in  the  discovery.  The 
count  but  forestalls  some  one  of  those  dignified,  seem 
ingly-pious  gentlemen  whose  eel-like  propensity  enables 
them  to  slip  right  around  the  point  of  discovery,  but 
who,  nevertheless,  manage  at  the  husband's  grave,  be 
tween  showers  of  grief  and  sundry  handkerchief  turn 
ings,  to  give  the  sudden  stroke  which  secures  the 
coming  wife,  perhaps;  and  moreover,  though  widow 
hood  is  certainly  the  most  subtilely  sweet  of  all  '  hoods,' 
yet,  its  enticements  could  have  no  charms  for  me,  as  my 
marriage  is  a  secret  and  must  forever  so  remain.  Con- 


WHAT"  CAME   OF    IT.  183 

clensed  in  those  two  men  are  the  materials  which  shall 
suffuse  my  future  with  the  gold  and  purple  tincture 
wherein  human  eyes  behold  fair,  envious  visions  of  great 
glory.  Faugh !  first  a  secret  marriage ;  second,  the  de 
frauding  of  an  innocent  girl  out  of  her  birth-right,  anil 
a  mother,  thereby,  of  a  child!  Shall  I,  after  all  this, 
weaken  at  bigamy?  and  —  ah  me!"  with  a  shudder, 
"  my  lips  shall  not  coin  the  horrid  act  into  words,  for  it 
is  surely  better  that  the  mind  should  not  take  into  ac 
count  the  work  of  the  hands  on  this  occasion.  Mon 
strous  crimes!  indeed,  but  as  necessary,  alas!  to  my  suc 
cess  as  the  ugly  feet  of  the  pea-fowl  are  to  the  brilliant 
plumage  which  flaunts  above  them." 

"Have  you  plunged  beneath  waters  of  oblivion,  or 
glanced  at  the  petrifying  Medusa?  that  you  stand  ga 
zing  into  vacancy,  apparently  unconscious  that  a  fellow- 
mortal  awaits  eagerly  for  an  answer,"  asked  the  puzzled, 
but  petulant  count,  with  capricious  irritation,  breaking 
in  on  the  mental  conflict  between  conscience  and  desire 
somewhat  raging  in  Zarina's  prolific  brain. 

"I  —  I  —  was  thinking,  only  thinking,"  rather  irrele 
vantly  answered  Zarina,  slowly  resuming  her  walk. 

The  count,  scowling  blackly,  interrupted  her  with 
slight  acerbity,  "  No  doubt  but  that  my  proposal  struck 
Mademoiselle  Clifford  dumb  with  surprise.  Surely,  past 
events  did  not  lead  her  to  expect  such  presumption  from 
one  whom  she  has  always  treated  with  the  utmost  re 
serve  (?).  The  idea  of  a  man  of  mv  rank  and  title  being; 

\    /  *>'  o 

duped  —  refused  —  pshaw !" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  the  impossibility  of  meeting  you  at 
the  time  appointed,"  said  Zarina,  turning  around  ab» 


184  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

ruptly  and  facing  him  with  one  of  her  peculiar  glances 
and  a  return  of  her  old  manner,  adding,  in  tones  of  icy 
crispness,  "Rank  and  title,  forsooth!  an  elephant  minus 
attrunk,  a  dry  river-bed  whose  supply  of  water  has  been 
cut  off!  Truly,  past  events  should  have  taught  us  the 
absurdity  of  exhibiting  surprise  at  such  a  wise  proposal 
from  such  a  source ! " 

"  Why  covet  for  yourself  that  which  you  affect  to  de 
spise  when  possessed  by  others?  "  he  said. 

"  Pray,  what  stronger  reason  can  be  given  than  that 
hateful  fact,  c  by  others  ? ' "  she  replied. 

"Forgive  my  roughness,  mignon"  murmured  the 
count,  changing  his  tactics.  "You  both  enchant  and 
madden  me,  and,"  suddenly  clasping  her  to  his  bosom 
and  covering  her  face  with  kisses,  "  you  shall  not  return 
to  the  house  till  you  grant  my  request." 

"Hush!"  cautioned  Zarina,  laying  her  hand  peremp 
torily  over  his  mouth,  "you  may  be  overheard.  We  are 
now  in  close  proximity  to  that  part  of  the  house  occu 
pied  by  the  servants." 

The  count,  transferring  the  plump,  white  hand  from 
his  mouth  to  his  palm,  where  it  rested  with  a  soft,  caress 
ing  touch,  asked  again,  "You  consent,  then?" 

"Foolish  nian!  what  would  be  the  necessity?  If 
Monsieur  Legrand  should  hear  you,  all  would  be  lost. 
But  mamma  is  expecting  company  to  dinner  to-morrow, 
so,  of  course,  you  see  it  would  be  impracticable." 

"  The  day  after,  then,"  rejoined  the  count.  "  To-mor 
row  is  Tuesday,  the  next  is  Wednesday,  so,  on  the  eve 
ning  of  that  day,  I  insist  that  you  shall  meet  your  adorer 


WHAT"    CAME    OF    If.  185 

and  a  priest  in  the  arbor,  at  ten  o'clock,  precisely.  If 
you  dare  to  fail  me  —  but  you  will  not!" 

"Suppose  that  I  should,  what  then?"  asked  Zarina, 
with  a  shrug  of  her  finely  moulded  shoulders. 

"  Why,  then,  I  shall  have  my  revenge  by  disclosing 
everything  to  Legrand,"  whispered  the  count,  threat 
eningly. 

"  I  will  not  relieve  his  anxiety  till  the  appointed  time," 
thought  Zarina,  inwardrj  chuckling,  "  or  mayhap  he 
may  think  me  too  easily  won."  Then  suddenly  throw 
ing  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  passionately  kissing 
him,  she  broke  from  his  grasp  and  swiftly  disappeared 
around  a  projection  of  the  mansion. 

Upon  re-entering  the  house  and  regaining  her  apart 
ments  in  safety,  Zarina  hastily  doffed  her  clothes  and 
sprang  into  bed.  She  had  scarcely  done  so  when  Lady 
Clifford  entered  the  room  and  found  her,  apparently, 
in  profound  slumber. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 


!;£> 

N  the  Talmud  there  is  a  phrase  to  which  all  men, 


in  all  countries,  of  whatsoever  sects  and  beliefs, 
seem  to  have  given  their  unanimous  assent  and 
approbation,  and  to  have  studied  for  self-pro 
tection,  as  it  seems  to  be  on  the  outer  edge  of  their 
memories,  and  always  accessible  in  time  of  need.  The 
phrase  in  question  is  this  :  "  Descend  a  step  in  choosing  a 
wife;  mount  a  step  in  choosing  a  friend." 

If,  as  has  often  been  alleged,  a  man  -should  be  judged 
by  the  character  of  his  associates,  it  seems  that  the 
before-mentioned  phrase  should  read  thus  :  "  Mount  a 
step  in  choosing  K  friend,  and  as  many  as  possible  in 
choosing  a  wife,"  especially  as  man  and  wife  are  merged 
into  one,  and  every  man  insists  on  being  that  one.  The 
average  man  needs  many  elevating  accessories  in  order 
to  be  recognized  as  a  success. 

Matrimony  admits  of  no  "backward  steps,"  to 
translate  a  Latin  quotation,  though,  in  truth,  we  have 
frequently  known  those  who,  in  the  vulgar  parlance  of  a 
live  language,  have  u  stepped  down  and  out"  Perhaps 
'twould  be  better  for  all  enraptured  candidates  to  pause 
before  mounting  that  acclivity  of  final  bliss,  and  forever 
decide  whose  individuality  shall  be  swallowed  up  in  the 
matrimonial  crater.  According  to  the  theory  of  modern 


SfrHAT   CAME    OF    IT.  187 

philosophers,  the  strongest  should  prevail;  but  that  is  a 
question  not  always  decided  by  the  accident  of  sex. 

These  observations  are  induced  by  the  contemplation 
of  the  matrimonial  alliance  of  M.  Legrand  and  Zarina. 
Their  accuracy  may  be  tested  hereafter — by  results. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day,  directly  after  lun 
cheon,  Madame  Fleurot  was  honored  by  another  call 
from  Legrand.  When  he  had  purchased  some  rare  old 
laces,  he  was  again  shown  into  madame's  little  back  par 
lor,  where,  when  seated,  he  resumed  the  theme  of  the 
former  occasion,  by  saying  : 

"  I  congratulate  you  heartily,  madame ;  you  succeeded 
beyond  my  expectation." 

"  You  attended  the  trial  this  morning  ?" 

"  No ;  but  I  received  your  note  of  yesterday  evening." 

"  The  money  was  not  only  found  upon  the  person  of  the 
accused,  but  she  also  fought  and  scratched  the  officer  who 
arrested  her.  Such  talk  !  such  names  !  why,  it  fairly 
makes  one's  hair  stand  on  end  to  think  of  it,  monsieur," 
said  madame,  indulging  in  a  grimace,  while  smoothing 
down  her  hair  with  both  hands.  "The  penalty  was 
heavier  than  I  thought,  however." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Legrand.  "  I  presume  his  honor, 
the  judge,  thought  that  the  ferocity  of  the  beast  needed 
severe  discipline."  . 

"  Be  that  as  it  may,  she  surely  received  the  sentence 
with  stolid  indifference.  I,  for  one,  was  wliolly  unpre 
pared  for  such  a  stupid  calm  after  the  storm  of  yester 
day." 

"A  propensity  of  savage  natures,  when  under  the 
retributive  lash,"  answered  Legrand,  producing  a  paper 


iSS  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

from  the  pocket  of  his  coat  and  handing  it  to  her. 
"  This  will  cancel  my  obligation,  I  presume." 

"  Obligation,  indeed  !  I  owed  you  a  debt  of  gratitude, 
which  it  was  my  sacred  duty  to  have  remembered,"  ex 
claimed  the  woman,  taking  the  mortgage,  however,  and 
carefully  locking  it  in  an  escritoire  at  hand. 

Legrand  smiled  at  madame's  subtleness  in  metamor 
phosing  corrupt  motives  into  gratitude.  When  the  hoop 
breaks  the  cask  falls,  to  use  a  familiar  phrase,  and  it  too 
frequently  happens  that  bribes  are  the  golden  hoops,  and 
convictions  the  cask.  It  was  so,  at  least,  in  this  in 
stance. 

While  many  seek,  few  profit  by  Scriptural  advice. 
Madame  Fleurot  was  an  exception.  "  Be  ye  therefore 
wise  as  serpents,  and  harmless  as  cloves,"  was  a  motto 
which  she  endeavored  to  practice ;  and  though  a  great 
student,  she  had  been  able  to  master  the  first  part  of 
this  phrase  only,  and  in  so  doing  was  always  too  busy 
to  grapple  the  remainder. 

With  a  few  common-place  remarks,  Legrand  took  his 
leave,  as  well  pleased  with  the  termination  of  the  affair 
as  herself. 

Returning  home  thoroughly  exhausted,  he  retired  to 
the  elegant  suite  of  apartments  set  apart  for  his  occu 
pancy. 

After  an  hour's  rest,  feeling  somewhat  refreshed,  he 
arose  and  glanced  out  of  the  window.  Seeing  Zarina 
alone  in  the  garden,  he  hastened  to  join  her. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  ejaculated,  coming  to  meet  him, 
"has  the  ghost  been  slain  ?  Do  relieve  my  anxiety." 

"  Give  yourself  no  further  uneasiness.     The  serpent's 


WHAT  CAME  OF  IT.  189 

fangs  have  been  extracted,"  replied  Legrand,  looking 
down  upon  her  fondly,  while  keeping  step  by  her 
side. 

"  But  how  ?"  persisted  she,  returning  his  glance  with 
equal  fervor. 

"I  will  explain  at  a  more  convenient  season,  sweet 
love.  Tell  me  something  about  yourself.  Our  meet 
ings  are  so  few  and  restricted,  that  I  long  for  the  time 
when  I  can  have  you  all  to  myself." 

"  That  reminds  me  that  it  is  time  to  dress  for  dinner," 
said  Zarina,  hastily  dropping  the  rose,  whose  prickles 
caused  blood  to  appear  on  the  smooth  surface  of  her 
white  hand,  which  Legrand  could  scarcely  refrain  from 
pressing  to  his  lips  (although  in  plain  view  of  the  house) 
as  it  lay  caressingly  in  his. 

In  drawing  a  handkerchief  from  her  pocket,  a  tiny 
pink  envelope  fluttered  down  -.at  the  very  feet  of  her 
companion.  She  could  not  suppress  a  start,  or  conceal  a 
change  of  countenance. 

Stooping  down  and  picking  it  up,  Legrand  glanced  at 
the  address,  started?  re-adjusted  his  gold-rimmed  glasses, 
and  turned  around  and  faced  Zarina,  with  a  thunderous 
countenance  and  a  lightning-like  glance  of  the  eye. 

Inwardly  quaking,  she  leeringly  glanced  at  the  paper 
extended  for  her  inspection ;  then  feeling  that  her  eyes 
were  sufficiently  under  control,  she  slowly  raised  them 
to  his,  with  a  look  of  injured  innocence. 

"  Why  look  you  so,  my  liege  ?  Am  I  the  criminal, 
you  the  judge  ?  In  what  have  I  ignorantly  transgressed, 
that  the  thundering  of  Mount  Sinai  should  be  brought  to 
bear  against  me  ?  Ah  me  !  would  that  the  children  of 


190  WHAT  CA^IE  OF  it. 

men  were  not  still  set  on  miching,  thereby  causing  jus 
tice  to  call  loudly,  as  One  of  old  in  the  garden,  for  some 
hidden  accusation  !" 

"  What !"  he  exclaimed,  ironically,  "  you  transgress, 
sweet  Scythian  lamb  !  Who  proclaims  it  ?  The  sun 
has  its  spots,  the  moon  lends  a  borrowed  light,  the  stars 
cozen  by  their  very  coyness,  but  you  are  all  innocence, 
and  innocence  is  perfection  !" 

"  Perfection  or  not,  it  needs  no  agnus  castus  to  repose 
upon;  likewise,  no  keen  surveillance  of  a  would-be  pre 
server.  Those  that  will  not.bear  trusting,  will  not  bear 
watching,  mark  that !"  raising  her  finger  and  shaking  it, 
while  eyeing  him  askance.  "  Did  all  men  resemble  suns 
in  anything  but  blemishes,  all  women's  faces  would  be 
luminous,  at  least,  with  happiness.  If,  as  some  contend, 
and  most  desire,  women  are  mere  reflectors,  I,  for  one, 
am  greatly  amazed  at  the  chasteness  of  the  reflections, 
when  contemplating  the  lights  from  which  they  were 
borrowed.  Be  this  as  it  may,  however,  you  hold  in  your 
hand,  within  about  three  inches  of  my  eyes,  (though  I 
have  no  knowledge  of  being  troubled  with  either  oph- 
thalmy  or  short-sightedness)  an  envelope,  directed  in  my 
hand-writing,  to  Count  LaCroix.  The  fact  will  not  be 
so  striking  as  it  seems,  on  second  thought,  perhaps,  and 
taking  into  consideration  the  circumstance  that  it  was  at 
your  request  that  I  promised  to  dismiss  the  count.  Now, 
to  one  as  unsophisticated  as  myself,  a  written  dismissal 
seemed  less  embarrassing  than  an  oral  one.  It  appears 
that  you  are  not  of  the  same  opinion,  however."  Af 
fecting  to  be  more  and  more  enraged  as  she  proceeded, 
she  snatched  the  letter  from  his  extended  hand  and 


WttAt   CAME   OF   It.  *9l 

tore  It  into  tiny  fragments,  throwing  them  into  the  base 
of  the  fountain  at  hand,  while  angrily  pursuing  :  "  There, 
monsieur,  are  you  satisfied  ?  Talk  about  love,  forsooth  ! 
love  and  distrust  at  the  same  time  !  You  are  too  much 
of  a  cat,  yourself,  to  trust  any  one,  monsieur.  Many 
thanks  one  gets  for  trying  to  please  you,  indeed  '!" 

"  Proof  conclusive  !  proof  conclusive  !"  exclaimed  Le- 
grand,  enigmatically,  wagging  his  head. 

"  Proof  of  what,  Pierre  the  wise  ?"  said  she,  with  a  sar 
castic  accent. 

"  First,  that  woman  has  a  matchless  facility  in  the  use 
of  her  tongue;  second,  that  there  are  no  women  in 
Heaven." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  referring  to  my  talk  ?"  said  she. 
"  But  how  does  that  prove  that  there  are  no  women  in 
Heaven  ?" 

" c  There  was  silence  in  Heaven  about  the  space  of  half 
an  hour  !' "  triumphantly  quoted  he,  "  and  who  ever  knew 
a  woman  to  keep  silent  one-third  of  that  time  ?" 

Sharp  and  quick  came  the  report  :  "  Ahem  !  The 
cause  is  quite  apparent,  as  'they  neither  marry,  or  are 
given  in  marriage,'  there.  If  it  were  otherwise,  and 
some  angel's  Mary  should  happen  to  nestle  at  Jesus' 
feet,  there  would  be — well,  the  silence  would  be  broken, 
that  is  all." 

"  In  which  case,  I  should  desire  to  be  cast  out,  like 
Lucifer,"  said  he,  with  a  provoking  smile. 

"  Fah  1  much  good  that  would  do  you,  monsieur,  as 
the  hell  of  mankind  is  situated  somewhere  between  the 
4  Gan  Eden '  you  told  me  of  and  earth,  where,  Tantalus- 
like,  they  hover  between  the  choicest,  fairest  women 


*92  WHAT    CAME    OF    It. 

above,  and  the  most  useful,  loving  ones  below,  without 
the  power  of  reaching  either  !" 

M.  Legrand  laughed,  dryly,  at  this  retort,  and  Zarina 
soon  afterwards  withdrew. 

Pacing  up  and  down  the  cool,  fragrant  walks,  the 
suspicious  schemer  turned  the  incident  of  the  letter  over 
and  over  in  his  mind.  For  the  twentieth  time  he  stopped 
in  front  of  the  fountain,  and  contemplated  the  floating 
fragments  of  paper  "with  a  gloomy  frown. 

"  Fool  !  fool  !"  he  murmured ;  "  an  angry  man  has 
no  more  reason,  perception  or  policy,  than  a  drunken 
one.  She  should  not  have  been  allowed  to  destroy  the 
letter.  Perhaps  I  accused  her  wrongfully,  and  her  anger 
was  genuine,  not  simulated,  but  it  had  been  just  as  easy 
to  put  the  matter  to  proof.  Alas  !  women  out-general 
us  in  deceit  and  intrigue  !  It  is  a  sad  confession,  but  the 
fact  is  indisputable.  A  lovely  and  fascinating  woman  is 
always  master  of  the  situation.  A  man  is  so  easily 
blinded  and  destroyed  by  his  lo^e,  while  woman's  af 
fection  is  more  or  less  fanciful  and  superficial.  A  disap 
pointed  lover  often  blows  out  his  brains;  but  a  woman, 
whose  love  affairs  have  gone  contrarily,  seeks  'fresh 
fields  and  pastures  new,'  or  consoles  herself  with  veal 
cutlets  and  onions.  Parbleu  !  it  is  a  gay  world  !  Then," 
walking  slowly  towards  the  house,  "  I  must  appear  be 
fore  this  company  at  dinner,  when,  in  fact,  it  will  be 
more  irksome  than  a  state  funeral.  Bah  !  what  inanities 
these  social  civilities  are  1  A  man  that  has  a  thought  in 
his  head  and  a  pain  at  his  heart,  is  murdered  by  them !" 

And  he  slowly  sought  his  own  apartments. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 


'HE  company  was  small,  but  select;  and  the 
dinner  was  pronounced  a  success.  The  last 
guest  had  departed  —  so  one  o'clock  found 
Monsieur  Legrand,  Lady  Clifford  and  mad 
emoiselle,  the  only  occupants  of  the  spacious  drawing- 
room. 

"Yes;  the  lady's  mind  is  unquestionably  brilliant,"  as 
sented  Monsieur  Legrand  to  some  previous  remark  of 
Lady  Clifford. 

"  Her  mind  may  be  bright,  but  her  face  is  certainly 
disgusting,"  chimed  in  Zarina,  glancing  admiringly  at  the 
beautiful  reflection  of  herself  in  the  large  cheval  glass 
opposite. 

"  This  attractive  beauty  of  the  body  which  is  thought 
to  be  so  powerful,"  reprovingly  answered  her  lady 
ship,  "is  not  only  the  snare  which  often  leads  to  its 
own  undoing,  but  is,  also,  a  sore  temptation  to  others, 
and  mark  you  this,  my  child !  that  though  its  power  may 
be  as  grateful  as  the  cooling  breath  of  Zephyrus  to  the 
feverish  brow,  its  disappointments  are  always  real  and 
as  hard  to  be  borne  as  the  fever  burning  within  the  veins. 
Beauty  possesses  the  intoxicating  power  of  wine.  No 
man  is  wise  enough,  or  good  enough,  no  matter  how 
great  his  intellectual  qualifications  may  be,  to  allow  him 
self  the  privilege  of  too  often  testing  reason  under  the 


194  WHAT   CAME   OF    IT. 

influence  of  either."  Lady  Clifford  had  not  even  glanced 
at  Legrand,  though  the  last  sentence  was  evidently  di 
rected  at  him. 

"  I  insist  that  your  ladyship  strengthen  your  own  com 
parison  by  adding  thereto  that  famous  saying  of  the  an 
cient  sage,  'At  the  last  it  biteth  like  a  serpent  and  sting- 
eth  like  an  adder,' "  broke  in  that  gentleman,  liberally 
adapting  the  quotation,  and  darting  a  withering  glance 
at  Zarina,  who  still  sat  disporting  with  her  mirrored 
charms. 

"  Though  both  fine  and  apt,  monsieur,  I  see  plainly 
that  the  comparison  will  not  be  complete  without  my 
contribution,  also :  '  They  have  stricken  me,  shalt  thou 
say,  and  I  was  not  sick;  they  have  beaten  me,  and  I  felt 
it  not;  when  shall  I  awake?  I  will  seek  it  yet  again,'" 
said  Zarina,  bestowing  on  Legrand  a  keen  oblique  look 
from  her  half  closed  eyelids,  as  the  red  lips  parted  in  an 
arch  smile,  disclosing  pearly  rows  of  teeth  which  met 
evenly. 

"  There  is  one  antique  saying  which  Mademoiselle 
Echo,  it  would  seem,  has  resolved  to  put  into  practice; 
' Know  thyself!''  that  is,  if  studying  the  glass  thor 
oughly,  will  impart  that  information,"  said  Legrand. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  insinuate,  monsieur,  that  an  article 
should  not  be  studied  whose  shadow,  even,  is  worth  con 
templating  ? " 

"Ah,  mademoiselle,  I  only  state  the  fact.  The  article 
is,  perhaps,  worthy  of  the  attention  it  receives." 

"  Do  you  know,  monsieur,  that  a  woman  must  either 
be  a  frivolous  coquette  or  an  odious  bas  bleu.  It  is  the 
result  of  the  accepted  relation  of  the  sexes,  the  social  sit- 


WHAT   CAME    OF   IT.  195 

nation.  The  field  of  honest  competition  heretofore 
closed,  or  at  least  partially  so  to  women,  makes  duplicity 
and  intriguing  more  habitual  to  them  than  open  frank 
ness  or  inward  sincerity.  All  have  desires  which  it 
would  be  better  to  gratify  than  stifle.  Is  not  that  so, 
mamma?"  said  Zarina,  turning  to  Lady  Clifford  for 
approval. 

"  As  to  that,  my  child,  doubtless  all  have  some  pet  de 
sires  which,  if  fulfilled,  would  destroy  their  author  —  and, 
in  truth,  desire  is  hydra-headed.  Lop  off  one  branch 
and,  presto  !  another  takes  its  place.  Its  hunger  cannot 
be  satiated.  One  who  was  a  close  student  of  nature, 
the  talented  lady,  Mary  Wortley  Montague,  is  said  to 
have  declared  '  that  in  all  her  travels  she  had  met  with 
but  two  sorts  of  people,  men  and  women?  Now  if"  — 

" '  Omme  simile  non  est  idem  / '  is  a  simple  but  truth 
ful  axiom,  which  it  would  be  well  for  us  always  to  bear 
in  mind,  more  so,  perhaps,  than  ever,  when  admitting 
the  above  assertion,' '  interrupted  Legrand.  " '  A  lover's 
angel,'  for  instance,  'is  a  rival's  fiend.'"  There  was  a 
pause. 

"Even  'in  the  hereafter,'"  said  her  ladyship,  ending 
the  broken  sentence. 

"  It  grows  late,  ladies,"  said  Legrand,  suddenly,  as  he 
arose,  bowed  and  withdrew. 

Then  Lady  Clifford  and  Zarina  also  retired,  each  to 
her  separate  appartments. 

The  next  morning  the  sky  was  overcast  with  dull, 
gray  clouds,  from  which  a  thick  mist  fell  drearily.  Not 
a  ray  of  sunlight  pierced  the  water  laden  air  which  crept 
with  a  sad,  monotonous  soughing  through  the  burdened 


196  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

foliage  of  surrounding  trees  and  plants,  which  stood 
swaying  and  drooping  under  their  virgin  cloud-bath, 
while  each  herb  and  shrub  was  a  wafting  censer  of  pleas 
ing  fragrance.  The  dark  atmosphere  prevailing  with 
out  had  the  effect  of  clouding  the  old  family  mansion 
with  duskiness  within. 

The  soft  drugget  which  protected  the  hall  and  stair 
case  carpets  gave  forth  no  sound  to  Zarina's  footsteps,  as 
on  the  afternoon  of  the  following  clay,  she  secretly  en 
tered  Legrand's  suite  of  apartments.  Taking  a  small 
phial  from  her  pocket  she  poured  a  few  drops  of  fluid 
into  a  bottle  of  medicine  that  was  on  a  stand  by  the  bed 
side.  In  so  doing,  her  cheeks  did  not  flush,  nor  did  a 
tremor  shake  her  frame ;  in  reality,  there  was  a  covert 
exultation  in  her  heart  which  brightened  her  eyes  and 
reddened  her  smiling  lips. 

"  To-night,"  murmured  she,  "  the  beggar's  brat  —  the 
amusing  ballet  dancer  —  the  cunning  lawyer's  wife  and 
ready  pupil  —  the  fair  lady's  charming  daughter,  will 
have  reached  the  zenith  of  her  highest  aim  —  millions 
of  money  and  a  countess'  title!  Legrand  gone,  Lady 
Clifford  will  soon  follow,  incl  I  shall  reign  a  queen  in 
that  society  which  ignored  or  abhorred  the  half-starved, 
half-naked,  though  beautiful  castaway,  in  the  cloud  of 
her  poverty.  A  little  kind  attention  then  might  have  — 
well,  no  matter.  A  twig,  is  easily  inclined,  they  say,  but 
when  matured,  methinks  'twould  be  far  better  to  eradi 
cate  the  whole  than  either  to  trim  or  prop  its  distorted 
growth.  To  prevent,  is  one  thing;  to  cure,  is  quite 
another.  But  why  dictate  to  that  society  whose  highest 
aim  is  c  To  seem  rather  than  to  be.'  It  moved  and  flour- 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  197 

ished  before  my  entrance,  and  will  doubtless  do  quite  as 
well  after  my  exit"  —  saying  which,  she  left  the  room 
as  cautiously  as  she  had  entered,  and  regained  her  own 
room  undiscovered.  Then  she  rang  for  her  maid,  and 
after  making  an  elegant  toilet,  joined  Lady  Clifford  and 
Legrand  in  the  dining-room. 

During  the  dinner  hour,  and  all  the  evening,  in  fact, 
Zarina  seemed  to  be  the  one  bit  of  social  brightness. 
The  general  gloom,  so  depressing  to  her  companions, 
seemed  but  to  raise  her  spirits.  She  succeeded  in  mak 
ing  the  dull  evening  bearable  to  Legrancl,  who  was  feel 
ing  rather  ill,  as  he  remarked  to  Lady  Clifford. 

Legrand  retired  to  his  room  a  few  minutes  after  nine 
o'clock,  and  Lady  Clifford  soon  followed  his  example. 

Having  given  her  maid  permission  to  attend  a  card- 
party  in  the  servants'  department  below  stairs,  Zarina 
was  free  to  keep  her  appointment  with  the  count  at  ten. 

Hastily  donning  a  walking  suit,  she  descended  the 
stairs.  A  semi-darkness  reigned,  that  part  of  the  build 
ing  being  closed  for  the  night.  Unfastening  one  of  the 
drawing-room  windows,  she  stepped  lightly  down  on 
the  wet  grass  beneath.  It  had  ceased  to  rain.  Through 
the  swift-moving  clouds  the  moon  appeared  dimly  at 
times.  Sounds  innumerable  mingled  confusedly.  Ever 
and  anon  the  glossy,  green,  impearled  leaves  sent 
forth  myriads  of  coruscations,  as  Luna  —  eternal  spirit 
of  the  night  —  transformed  the  wet  drops  upon  the  sway 
ing  branches  into  orient  pearls.  Such  are  human  hopes ; 
pleasing  to  fancy,  but  dispersed,  alas!  by  a  touch  of  re 
ality  ;  gifted  with  the  sparkle  of  the  diamond  without  its 
solidity. 


198  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

Zarina  found  Count  LaCroix  and  a  priest  awaiting  her 
in  the  arbor. 

After  a  whispered  consultation,  the  marriage  ceremony 
was  duly  performed — Zarina  being  ignorant  of  the  legal 
requirements  in  such  cases.  The  good  father  then 
blessed  the  newly  wedded  pair,  and  took  his  leave. 

Standing  in  the  cold,  wet  arbor,  the  count  and  countess 
planned  for  the  future.  They  schemed  well — ah,  yes, 
so  have  others.  To  scheme  is  one  thing,  to  succeed 
another. 

Zarina's  parting  injunction  was  :  "  I  have  fulfilled  my 
part  of  the  compact,  see  that  you  now  fulfill  yours."  . 

"I  start  for  Switzerland  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
Remember  that  three  months  will  be  the  utmost  limit  of 
my  patience.  At  the  expiration  of  that  time,  I  shall  re 
turn  and  claim  my  countess,  cost  what  it  may." 

"  Three  months  is  all  the  time  I  ask,  prince  of  my 
soul,"  said  she,  and  with  a  fervid  embrace  they  finally 
separated. 

Silently  as  a  floating  mist,  Zarina  made  her  way  to 
the  suite  of  apartments  occupied  by  Legrand,  after  first 
entering  her  own,  however,  and  exchanging  her  dress 
and  walking-boots  for  gown  and  slippers. 

Upon  reaching  his  bedside,  she  was  somewhat  startled 
at  beholding  the  pallor  of  his  face,  which  was  certainly 
wetted  by  the  dews  of  death. 

Without  expressing  surprise  at  her  presence  at  such  an 
hour,  he  gaspingly  ejaculated  : 

"  Oh,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  !  I  tried  to  ring  the ! 
bell,  but  was  too  weak  to  rise.  I  am  feeling  very  S 
strange.  Oh,  Zarina  !  Zarina  I  I  fear  'tis  death  !  Awaken  \ 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  199 

Lady  Clifford,  and  send  for  a  priest !  I  must  confess  ! 
I  cannot  go  hence  with  such  a  burden  !  Believe  me, 
you  will  be  far  happier  so.  My  snug  little  fortune  will 
be  amply  sufficient  for  you  and  your  child — our  child. 
I  will  not  forget  that,  Zarina,  but  will  lay  all  the  blame 
where  it  rightly  belongs — upon  myself.  Depend  upon 
it,  Lady  Clifford  will  be  kind  to  you,  and  forgiving  to 
me,  or  at  least  to  my  memory,  for  naught  prevails  against 
dead,  insensate  clay." 

"You  are  frightened,  monsieur,"  said  Zarina,  re 
assuringly,  feeling  his  pulse,  while  kneeling  at  the  bed 
side,  and  pressing  her  red  lips  to  his  cold  and  ashy  ones. 
"  You  foolish  man,  you,"  she  continued,  "  to  mistake  the 
effects  of  a  chill  for  death  !  It  is  only  a  chill,  monsieur, 
I  assure  you." 

"  No,  no,  child ;  I  have  no  time  to  waste  !  The  elev 
enth  hour  is  almost  past  !"  cried  the  man,  with  an  im 
patient  gesture. 

"  Is  that  the  limit  of  God's  mercy,  Pierre  ?" 

"  I  cannot  say — it  is  fearful  to  think  of,"  he  gasped. 

"You  are  frightened,  monsieur,  only  frightened." 

She  gently  raised  his  head  upon  her  arm. 

"  A  priest !  a  priest !  'Tis  verging  on  the  hour  of 
twelve.  I  tell  you,  no;  'tis  death  !  'tis  death  !"  shrieked 
Legrand,  looking  wildly  around  the  room,  as  she  raised 
him  to  a  sitting  posture.  "Don't  let  them  take  me, 
Zarina!"  he  continued,  piteously;  "I  must  confess,  and 
be  absolved.  O,  that  they  were  here  !  Send  for  them  ! 
send  now  !"  motioning  her  away. 

"  Do  you  really  want  to  see  her  ladyship  at  this  un 
seemly  hour  ?  Believe  me,  monsieur,  you  will  deeply 


2OO  WHAT  CAME    OF    IT. 

regret  this  night's  occurrence,  when  the  effects  of  the 
chill  have  worn  off,"  hazarded  Zarina,  who  was  bent 
on  gaining  time.  "'Tis  a  burning  shame,"  continued 
she,  "  that  your  glorious  prospects,  and  my  promising 
hopes,  also,  should  be  nipped  in  the  bud,  and  for  ever 
blasted  before  their  fruition,  and  all  for  a  mere  whim. 
Only  think  of  it,  and  awaken  to  reason  and  judg 
ment,  monsieur  !" 

Not  waiting  for  Legrand  to  reply,  she  resumed,  while 
seating  herself  in  an  easy  chair,  "  It  now  lacks  but  five 
minutes  to  twelve  o'clock;  if  you  are  not  better  by  two, 
I  shall  awaken  Lady  Clifford  and  send  for  the  priest." 

"Oh  God!  GOD!  GOD!"  cried  Legrand,  beating 
the  air  with  his  clenched  hands,  "Must  I  die  like  a 
dog?" 

•'  You  are  howling  like  a  dog,  monsieur,"  she  replied, 
having  a  supreme  contempt  for  the  man's  cowardice. 

He  cast  upon  her  an  awful  look,  then  fell  back,  turned 
his  face  to  the  wall,  and  was  silent. 

When  he  had  thus  remained  for  some  ten  minutes, 
Zarina  was  surprised,  upon  approaching  the  bed,  to  hear 
him  say  — 

"  The  clock  struck  two.  Go  tell  her  ladyship,  there's 
not  a  moment  to  lose.  Begone,  I  say!  Do  you  hear 
me  ? "  pointing  towards  the  door. 

"  Seeing  that  his  quietus  was  corning  shortly  she  bent 
over  him  and  coldly  replied :  "  Certainly,  I  hear,  but 
can  you  expect  me  to  obey?  You  remember  telling  me, 
perhaps,  that  life  was  nothing  more  than  a  game  of 
chess.  Because  you  are  check-mated,  must  I,  forsooth,: 
give  up  the  game?  Not  so,  my  liege;  for,  by  my  soul! 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  2OI 

the  board  never  gave  greater  promise.  My  aim  is  to 
win;  and  in  the  presence  or  absence  of  him  who  first 
directed,  I  shall  not  only  win  the  game,  but  also,  my  op 
ponent.  In  looking  over  the  Book  which  you  say  that 
your  mother  prized  so  highly,  I  found  this  sentence: 
'  With  what  measure  ye  mete,  it  shall  be  measured  to 
you  again.'  Now,  I  presume,  that  that  is  what  you 
would  call  a  demonstrated  fact.  4  Train  up  a  child  in  the 
way  he  should  go:  and  when  he  is  old  he  will  not  de 
part  from  it,'  another  motto  to  which  you  have  given  the 
lie,  the  truth  of  which  I  intend  to  demonstrate  also  to 
you,  who  are  so  fond  of  Scriptural  quotations."  So  say 
ing,  without  another  glance,  she  turned  and  quietly  left 
the  room,  closing  the  door  on  her  way  out  and  once 
again  entered  her  own  apartments.  Did  she  then  seek 
her  pillow  —  and  pleasant  dreams?  Perhaps.  Nero's 
fiddling  was,  after  all,  but  a  slight  exponent  of  the  in 
finite  cruelty  of  human  nature. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

'HERE  are  lives  which  know  nothing  but 
sunshine  and  calm,  and  others  which  are  tem 
pest-tossed  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave.  Dif- 
1  *  'ferences  of  character  partly  account  for  it,  but 
the  variable,  moody  winds  of  chance,  which  blow  where 
they  list,  are  chiefly  responsible  far  the  strange  contrasts 
in  human  destinies.  The  gambler  does  well  in  worship 
ping  the  shadowy  power  he  calls  Luck,  but  he  does  bet- 
.ter  when  he  recognizes  system  in  the  operations  of  his 
deity,  and  best  when  he  circumvents  it  altogether  with 
loaded  dice  and  marked  cards. 

Is  there  really  a  law  of  chance  —  a  design  in  the  pro 
miscuous,  hap-hazard  tumbling  of  human  dice  on  the 
board  of  time  ?  Is  there  a  sublime,  though  unseen  sym 
pathy,  between  the  honey-moon  tourist  who  has  his  legs 
cut  off  in  a  railway  accident  and  the  beggar  who  falls 
heir  to  a  fortune?  Men  can  never  attain  a  god-like  pa 
tience  under  adversity  until  they  recognize  special  prov 
idences  in  the  ordering  of  individual  fates,  or  come  to 
regard  themselves  impersonally  as  the  dancing-motes 
in  the  broad  sunbeams  of  law  and  love.  It  is  doubtless 
true,  however,  that  the  mind  of  God  not  only  regard* 
general  results,  but  individual  cases,  for  the  Book  has 
said  that  the  very  hairs  of  our  head  are  numbered ;  that 
not  a  sparrow  falls  unnoticed  to  the  earth, 


WHAT   CAME    OF    IT.  2O$ 

Through  the  whole  doctrine  of  the  Galilean  runs  the 
golden  scheme  of  compensation.  It  is  the  glowing  text 
of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  — the  inspiration  of  those 
Beatitudes  which  hover  like  angels  in  our  darkened  air! 

To  Echo,  struggling  with  adverse  fortunes,  there 
came,  not  only  the  consolations  of  a  religious  spirit,  but 
she  found  in  the  very  necessity  of  mental  and  physical 
labor  a  relief  from  the  cares  and  sorrows  that  oppressed 
her  young  heart.  Whatever  relation  labor  may  have 
borne  to  the  ideal  man  in  the  Garden,  the  world,  as  at 
present  constituted,  owes  a  debt  of  eternal  gratitude  to 
the  tree  of  knowledge  and  the  daring  curiosity  of  Eve. 

"Look,  Eto!"  cried  the  voice  of  Wistit  to  our  hero 
ine,  who  was  preparing  luncheon,  "  the  sun  is  runnin' 
'way  from  the  cryin'  clouds.  Oughten  they  to  be 
ashamed  of  themselves  ?  " 

"Which,"  asked  Echo,  merrily,  "the  sun  or  the 
clouds?" 

"  Why,  the  naughty  black  clouds  o'  course,"  answered 
the  child,  with  an  emphatic  nodding  of  her  little  head. 

"  Ah,  I  see.  But  you  must  understand,  Wistit,.  that 
there  is  a  vast  difference  between  c  crying  clouds '  and 
crying  little  girls.  Little  girls  spoil  their  faces  and  their 
frocks,  and  annoy  their  parents  and  friends  by  crying ; 
but  when  the  clouds  cry,  the  earth  is  glad,  and  the  grass 
lifts  up  its  tiny  green  fingers  and  catches  the  shining 
tears.  See,"  continued  Echo,  walking  to  the  window 
and  pointing  to  some  potted  plants,  "how  clean  and 
sweet  the  flowers  look  after  their  nice  bath ! " 

"  The  Chinaraans  might  wash  'em,"  said  Wi&tit,  still 
Discrediting  the  labors  of  the  clouds,  Then  lifting-  up 


204  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

her  face,  illumined  by  an  idea,  she  asked :  "  Them  is 
clean  enough  for  Sunday  School,  but  'em  can't  sing!" 

"  Indeed  they  can,  my  love.  Their  beauty  is  an  inef 
fably  sweet  song  in  praise  of  the  living  God,"  said  Echo, 
rather  grandiloquently,  considering  her  auditory. 

Wistit  was  one  of  those  pert  children  who  are  always 
bristling  with  unexpected  questions  and  answers.  As 
an  instance,  some  itinerant  divine  who  had  been  invi 
ted  to  address  the  Sunday  School  she  attended,  closed  a 
long  disquisition  on  the  subject  of  Balaam  and  the  speak 
ing  ass,  by  asking,  "  To  whom,  then  did  the  beast 
speak?" 

There  was  a  dramatic  pause  of  a  few  minutes,  then 
the  lisping  voice  of  Wistit  arose  in  answer  — 

"To  the  Sunday  School!" 

Upon  calling  at  the  home  of  two  of  her  first  and  most 
influential  pupils  on  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day,  Echo 
was  met  by  their  mother,  who  rather  reluctantly  im 
parted  the  somewhat  startling,  because  totally  unex 
pected,  information  that  she  thought  best  to  dispense 
with  her  services. 

u  It  seemed  to  me  that  your  daughters  were  progress 
ing  finely"  remarked  Echo.  "May  I  ask  in  what  par 
ticular  I  have  failed  to  meet  your  requirements  ? " 

"  As  a  teacher,"  replied  the  lady,  "  I  must  say  that 
you  have  given  entire  satisfaction;  in  fact,  both  husband 
and  myself  were  highly  gratified  at  the  progress  they 
were  making." 

"  If  so,  justice  to  myself  forces  me  to  demand  of  you, 
clear  madam,  the  true  cause  of  my  dismissal,"  said  Echo, 
with  quiet  dignity.. 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  205 

The  lady's  eyes  fell  beneath  Echo's  inquiring  glance, 
while  her  face  flushed  slightly,  as  she  arose  and,  in  evi 
dent  embarrassment,  replied  — 

"  You  are  very  attractive,  and  my  daughters  young 
and  impressible ;  I  —  in  short,  I  have  been  told  that  your 
reputation  is  not  of  the  best." 

"The  name  of  your  informant?"  rather  calmly  de 
manded  Echo,  though  trembling  slightly,  and  trying 
hard  to  keep  the  gathering  tears  from  falling. 

"I  —  I  —  in  fact,  it  is  generally  so  reported." 

"  By  whom,  when,  and  where  ? " 

"  By  the  members  of  our  Church,  upon  whose  pas 
tor's  recommendation  I  employed  you  as  the  instructress 
of  my  daughters.  You  must  excuse  me  as  I  have  some 
pressing  duties  which  require  immediate  attention." 

"J  shall  detain  you  but  a  moment,"  returned  Echo,  at 
the  same  time  making  an  involuntary  but  peremptory 
motion  with  her  hand,  "and  in  the  name  of  Him  whose 
teaching  you  profess  to  follow,  I  insist  that  you  shall  be 
more  specific  and  particularize  some  person  or  persons 
who  have  dared  to  blacken  my  reputation.  Though 
only  a  music  teacher,  the  good  God  has  seen  fit  to  temper 
my  feelings  as  finely  as  yours,  perhaps,  and  my  good 
name  is  equally  as  dear,  if  not  more  so,  knowing  that 
my  own  food  and  that  of  others  dearer  than  myself  de 
pends  upon  its  vindication." 

"  I  have  said  all  that  I  intend  to  say  upon  the  subject, 
as  I  do  not  wish  my  name  mixed  up  with  such  affairs. 
I  know  not  the  truth  or  falsity  of  such  reports  and  have 
had  no  hand  in  their  circulation."  Then,  touched  by 
sudden  sympathy,  she  feelingly  added :  "  Forgive  me 


2O6  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

if  I  have  wronged  you,  poor  child,  and    let  the  love  I 
bear  my  daughters  be  my  excuse." 

Echo  flushed  angrily  as  she  replied,  "  The  vilest 
criminal  in  the  land  is  not  declared  guilty  till  the  charges 
are  proven  against  him,  and  yet  you,  one  of  my  own  sex, 
have  not  only  refused  to  give  the  name  of  my  traducers, 
but  have  also  asserted  your  belief  in  my  guilt  by  con 
demning  me  unheard,  and  you  are,  moreover,  doing  all 
which  lies  in  your  power  to  deprive  me  of  earning  an 
honest  living  by  a  sudden  and  unexpected  dismissal.  My 
plea  is  not  for  mercy,  but  for  stern,  keen-eyed  justice  only, 
in  whose  name  I  command,  and,  as  a  woman,  implore 
you  to  give  the  names  of  those  who  have  wantonly  vil 
ified  a  poor  orphan.  I  would  also  crave  a  suspension  of 
judgment  till  you  have  had  time  to  ascertain  the  truth 
or  falsity  of  these  cruel  reports." 

Echo  had  risen,  and  was  now  standing  directly  oppo 
site  the  woman.  Her  face  flushed  and  paled  by  turns. 
Tears  dimmed  the  luster  of  her  soulful  eyes,  and 
brimming  over,  rolled  unheeded  clown  her  softly 
rounded  cheeks.  Her  finely  curved  lips,  scarlet  and 
tremulous,  wrere  expressive  of  deep  emotion.  A  stray 
sunbeam  gleaming  through  a  crevice  in  the  window- 
blind  softly  touched  the  gold-tinted  crispy  mass  of  hair 
which  was  gathered  into  a  single  plait,  doubled  and  se 
cured  by  a  blue  ribbon.  Unconsciously  her  arms  were 
slightly  extended  and. her  raised  hands  clasped  together. 

Noting  her  beauty,  which  was  extremely  striking  to 
day,  Mrs.  James'  heart  hardened  as  she  called  to  mind 
the  conversation  that  the  Misses  Richard  chanced  to 
overhear,  and,  moreover,  there  flashed  into  her  mind  the 


WHAT   CAME   OP   IT.  2C>7 

remembrance  that  upon  a  certain  occasion,  she  had  heard 
her  eldest  son  express  warm  admiration  for  this  same 
girl,  and  she  sullenly  replied  — 

"  Your  importunity  forces  me  again  to  reiterate  that  I 
have  nothing  more  to  say,"  ending  with  a  freezing  incli 
nation  of  the  head. 

Though  secure  in  wealth  and  position  and  standing  in 
the  midst  of  her  opulent  surroundings,  this  woman  fairly 
shrunk  from  the  indignant  blaze  in  Echo's  eyes  as  she 
would  have  shrunk  from  the  flame  of  a  furnace,  as.  after 
a  slight  pause,  she  returned,  "Pray  excuse  me;  I  mis 
took  you  at  least  for  a  benevolent  lady,  if  not  a  Chris 
tian;"  and,  with  a  bow  as  cold  as  the  lady's  own,  she 
made  her  exit  with  such  grace  and  stateliness  that  this 
woman,  though  possessing  all  things  which  money  could 
buy,  envied  the  fair  queen  of  poverty  whose  own  shapely 
hands  earned  her  daily  subsistence. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

N  almost  every  community  there  are  persons 
whose  power  of  discernment  is  a  very  spear  of 
Ithuriel  in  turning  one's  weak  sides  uppermost 
and  tracing  out  the  latent  faults  of  character. 
While  it  may  be  well  for  each  individual  to  recognize 
his  peculiar  frailties  and  study  to  overcome  them,  it  will 
not  do  for  them  to  become  common  property ;  and  the 
sharp-beaked  vultures,  therefore,  are  known  principally 
as  nuisances  in  society,  and  some  day  there  will  be  a  de 
termined  movement  to  abate  them. 

Scarcely  had  Echo  left  the  house  on  her  regular  round 
of  duty,  when  Aunt  Newbury  received -a  call  —  of  course 
it  was  a  business  call  —  from  a  coarse,  ignorant,  officious 
and  pungent-flavored  woman  who  had  the  scent  of  a 
blood-hound  for  the  slightest  taint  in  the  social  atmos 
phere.  Skilled  in  the  domestic  art  of  making  "pre 
serves,"  her  taste  naturally  ran  to  acids  instead  of  sweets, 
and  she  generally  managed  to  leave  people's  affairs  in  a 
pretty  pickle. 

As  Wistit  ushered  in  this  sharp-nosed  assayer  of  moral 
ore,  the  nurse  winced  inwardly  and  braced  her  nerves 
for  an  affliction. 

The  pleasant  visitor,  eyes  and  mouth  extended  and 
hands  upraised,  sank  into  a  chair  with  the  exclamation: 
"Bless  my  stars!  if  ye  ai'nt  a  sittin'  up!  Heerin'  you'd 


WHAT    CAME    OP    IT.  209 

\ 

hed  a  mighty  bad  spell  of  rheumatiz,  sister  Newbury, 
and  seein'  its  our  bounden  duty  to  visit  the  sick,  I  thought 
I'd  just  drop  in  a  speck."  During  this  elaborate  pro- 
Jogue,  the  round,  black  eyes  of  the  speaker  had  wan 
dered  keenly  over  the  room  and  its  furniture,  searching 
for  a  speck  or  a  flaw. 

"  Very  kind  of  you,  indeed,  sister  Ferret,"  said  the 
nurse,  dryly. 

"  Well,  ye  air  a  lookin'  perter  than  I  expected,  for  I  tell 
ye  that  rheumatics  has  a  powerful  effect  in  tuckerin'  out 
people.  Howsumever  yer  spell  couldn't  hev  been  a  car- 
cumstance  to  a  spell  that  tackled  my  Sally  Ann  nigh 
onto  five  years  back.  How  that  poor  critter  djjl  suffer 
was  a  caution.  I  tell  ye  what,  sister  Newbury,  it  takes 
a  'mazen  lot  of  grace  to  set  up  and  chirp  under  some 
tribulous  dispensations.  Howsumever,  there 's  no  other 
way  to  carcumvent  contrary  carcumstances.  But  how 
might  ye  be  feelin'  bout" 

"  Better,  much  better,  thank  you,"  hastily  said  the 
nurse. 

"Wai,  I  reckon  ye  know  who  to  thank  — it  aint  me 
to  besure.  We  had  a  monstrous  edifying  meetin'  last 
night,  sister  Newbury ;  the  parson  he  peppered  them  as 
needed  et,  an'  sugared  them  as  wouldn't  be  peppered, 
an'  atween  the  two  he  did  every  soul  uv  'em  a  'mazen 
power  o'  good.  'P eared  like  every  one  had  a  blessed 
chance  of  enterin'  the  Kingdom  to  oust,  but,  awful  to 
think  uv!  some  uns  missed  et  —  some  uns  missed  et! 
Pears  as  if  some  souls  were  powerful  stubborn  like,  an' 
can't  be  driv  or  coaxed  nigh  onto  the  Marcy  Seat.  Seems 
like  the  green  pastures,  likewise  still  waters,  hasn't  no 


\VttAf   CAME~OF   Il\ 

charms  for  'em.  They'd  rather  go  grovellin'  roun'  oft 
the  outside  whar  they  can  allers  git  somethin'  more  ster- 
rin'  like  then  still  waters,  and  some  does  say  as  how  Ne 
buchadnezzar  warnt  a  very  enticin'  example  to  pasturin' 
folks." 

Aunt  Newbury  sighed  gently,  but  said  not  a  word. 

"  Wai,  I  spose  I'd  better  be  mozyin'  along,  only  I  was 
a  goin'  to  ax  you  'bout  them  cumbrous  tales  as  has  been 
goin'  roun'  bout  yer  little  gimp  of  a  sister." 

"Tales!  my  sister!  what  in  the  name  of  Heaven  can 
you  mean  ? "  said  the  nurse  excitedly. 

The  visitor  brightened  visibly  at  the  consternation  she 
had  caused,  as  she  replied :  "  Wai,  they  do  say  as  how 
she's  one  o'  them  whose  feet  take  hold  onto  hell." 

"What!  How  dare  you,  wretched  old  scandal-mon 
ger  that  you  are,  to  pollute  the  air  of  this  room  with 
your  second-hand  lies  ?  "  The  nurse  -was  in  a  blaze  of 
anger  and  quivered  like  an  aspen  leaf,  while  her  fingers 
twitched  dangerously. 

"  My  stars !  sister  Newbury,  don't  go  and  git  so  ob- 
stropulous!  Yer  hadn't  ought  to  blame  me;  'twasn't 
me  as  done  et.  I've  heern  it  ever  since  that  doin's  at  the 
church,  arid  thars  them  that  makes  no  bones  of  tellin'  et. 
My  Sally  Ann  sez  that  brother  Cason  has  got  Helena 
Hoffman  to  go  and  take  Echo's  place  in  the  choir.  They 
hed  a  mighty-tighty  time  about  it  I  can  tell  ye.  Sister 
Johnson  shed  tears  over  the  depravity  of  one  that  wuz 
so  'mazen  clever.  Sister  Morgan  got  up  and  said  she'd 
been  a  tellin'  them  that  all  along.  And  then  sister  Bur- 
ress  told  them  thet  the  old  sarpent  hisself  sometimes  ap 
peared  as  an  angel  of  light." 


WHAT    CAME    OP    it.  2ll 

The  nurse  started  up  in  a  fury.  "  Not  another  word ! 
What  care  I  for  the  carrion  vomit  of  those  vultures? 
Off!  I  say  ?  Get  out  of  that  door  in  an  instant  or  I  will 
hurl  you  out?" 

The  old  wretch  did  get  out  of  the  door,  in  a  hurry, 
too,  but  she  halted  on  the  step  to  leave  this  Parthian 
shot:  "'Pears  to  me  where  there's  so  much  smoke 
there  must  be  some  fire." 

At  the  closing  of  the  street  door,  the  angry  flush  faded 
from  the  nurse's  face,  and  the  blaze  in  her  eyes  was 
drowned  in  tears,  as  she  sank  back  on  the  chair  in  which 
she  was  seated,  bowed  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  wept 
long  and  passionately. 

Echo  returned  about  six  o'clock,  fatigued  by  her  long 
walk,  and  very  much  depressed  in  spirit.  Inward  gloom 
overshadowed  her  expressive  face,  a  circumstance  which 
the  experienced  eyes  of  the  nurse  noted  instantly;  so, 
after  the  first  kindly  greeting,  she  said,  feelingly,  at  the 
same  time  opening  her  arms  — 

"  Come,  Echo,  share  with  me,  you  and  I  are  partners 
you  know.  Then  why  cheat  your  poor  old  nurse  by 
striving  to  withhold  her  share  ? " 

As  those  arms  closed  around  her,  Echo's  head  sank 
on  their  owner's  motherly  bosom  and  wept  unreserv 
edly. 

"Poor,  tired  darling!  Do  not  weep  so  bitterly,  child, 
but  calm  yourself  and  tell  sister  what  has  happened," 
said  the  nurse,  tenderly,  stroking  her  hair. 

"  I  cannot  tell  about  it  just  yet,'.'  sobbed  Echo.  Then, 
for  the  first  time  since  her  entrance,  she  remarked  the 
pallor  upon  the  nurse's  face.  Starting  up,  she  exclaimed, 


212  WHAT   CAME    OF    IT. 

"You  are  worse.     Forgive  my  selfishness;  you  shall  lie 
down  and  rest  while  I  make  you  a  cup  of  strong  tea." 

Before  retiring  for  the  night,  Echo,  sitting  on  a  chair 
by  the  nurse's  bedside,  composedly  related  the  loss  of 
her  two  pupils,  also,  the  conversation  held  with  their 
mother,  all  of  which  it  would  be  useless  to  repeat. 
"  Then,"  added  she,  the  three  other  scholars  which  I  in 
structed  were  cross  and  dull.  Moreover,  as  I  was  as 
cending  our  front  steps,  two  young  men  were  passing, 
and  I  accidentally  overheard  one  of  them  say  to  his 
companion,  '  There  goes  the  girl  with  whom  Ainsley 
had  an  amour;  he  showed  me  the  house  to'- —  Just 
then  Wistit  sprang  out  of  the  door,  and  I  lost  the  rest." 

"  I,  too,  had  a  visitation ;  it  came  in  the  person  of  old 
Mrs.  Ferret,"  remarked  the  nurse  as  Echo  paused. 

"Was  that  all?"  smilingly  asked  Echo. 

"Was  not  that  sufficient  ? "  said  the  nurse,  with  a  gri 
mace  of  pain. 

"  Ah,  truly." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

URING  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day,  Echo 
remarked  to  the  nurse :  "  I  forgot  to  tell  you 
that  I  met  our  chorister,  Mr.  Cason,  yesterday, 
and  that  his  bow  appeared  stiff  and  his  manner 
very  cold  and  distant.  Do  you  think  him  displeased  be 
cause  I  have  not  attended  lately  ?" 

"  I'm  sure  he  must  have  heard  of  my  illness,  and  if 
that  was  not  a  sufficient  excuse  for  your  absence,  I  do 
not  know  what  would  be  so  considered,"  returned  the 
nurse,  rather  tartly.  "  Do  you  really  enjoy  singing  in 
the  choir,  Echo  ?"  asked  she,  moved  by  an  after 
thought. 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  there  is  no  doubt  of  that.  Why,  sister,^ 
she  added,  with  slight  enthusiasm,  "  I  verily  believe  that 
there  are  those  in  our  choir  possessed  of  musical  talent 
which  will  eventually  develop  into  excellence  of  the 
highest  order." 

Aunt  Newbury  sighed  heavily. 

Echo  looked  up  quickly:  "But  why. that  sigh  and 
elongation  of  countenance,  sister  ?  There  is,  seemingly, 
more  in  your  question  than  would  appear  on  the  sur 
face." 

"  Has  it  never  occurred  to  you,  Echo,  that — that  the 
loss  of  your  scholars  dated  from  that  public  entertain 
ment  given  by  the  Church,  in  which  you  participated  ? 


WHAT    CAME   OF   it. 

Even  before  my  sickness,  I  noticed  a  certain  suspicious 
stiffening  of  manners  and  a  lessening  of  sociality.  In 
truth,  I  strongly  suspect  that  villain,  Ainsley,  of  ma 
liciously  putting  into  circulation,  that  very  night,  false 
reports  concerning  your  past  history." 

"  Oh,  sister,  they  will  not  believe  any  great  evil  of  me, 
surely,"  cried  Echo,  with  emotion.  "  The  members  of 
the  choir,  especially,  have  known  me  for  a  year  and 
more;  will  not  my  conduct,  during  that  time,  weigh 
something  against  the  word  of  a  man  like  Edmond 
Ainsley,  even  though  he  had  made  his  charges 
openly  ?" 

"  It  seems  not,"  answered  Aunt  Newbury,  sorrow 
fully,  hesitating  like  one  who  dreads  to  give  pain. 

"You  have  heard — you  know  something  that  you 
have  not  told  me  yet  ?"  said  Echo,  impetuously,  with 
an  imploring  look  towards  the  other.  "Do  not  keep 
me  in  suspense,  I  pray  you,  sister  !  Never  fear,  I  shall 
find  strength  to  bear  it — as  I  have  already  borne  many 
sorrows — -with  an  added  pain  here,  perhaps,"  putting 
her  hand  on  her  heart,  "and  a  blackening  and  lengthen 
ing  of  life's  shadows." 

"  Take  courage,  my  poor  child ;  these  evil  days  will 
pass,  and  the  sun  will  come  out  from  behind  the  cloud 
that  now  obscure*  it  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  sister;  I  am  afraid  Mr.  Darwin  is  cor 
rect  about  the  evolution  of  species,  and  that  I,  having 
been  delayed  somehow,  am  still  of  the  reptilian  order," 
said  Echo,  with  a  plaintive  smile,  continuing—"  at  any 
rate,  it  would  seem  so  from  the  manner  in  which  I  am 
continually  trodden  upon  and  bruised," 


CAME   OF    it.  £1$ 

u Tush,  tush,  child  !  the  ideals  far-fetched  !"  responded 
the  nurse.  "  You  have  a  musical  soul,  which,  according 
to  Plato,  once  existed  in  the  breast  pf  a  pure  little  night 
ingale.  That  will  account  for  the  swooping  of  the 
hawks,  perhaps,  which,  though  changing  their  forms 
somewhat,  yet  retain  their  former  rapacity;  also  the 
tongue,  which  is  said  to  be  cloven,  a  mark  satanic,  and, 
by  the  way,  accounts  for  their  double-dealings." 

"  Though,"  said  Echo,  brightening  a  little,  "  I  mean 
to  live  a  pure  life,  and  am  also  constrained  to  plead 
guilty  of  loving  music  to  excess,  yet  my  ambition  soars 
higher  than  that  of  Plotinous,  for  I  desire  that  my  pool- 
soul  shall  transmigrate  into  a  life  more  satisfying  than 
bird-life,  however  harmonious.  But,"  here  the  faultless 
mouth  drooped,  the  pained  expression  returned  to  the 
mistily  luminous  eyes,  while  a  &id  weariness  stole  into 
and  thrilled  along  the  chords  of  her  magnetic  voice, 
"why  dream  away  the  present  theorizing  on  the  past 
or  future,  when  that  great  problem  'Now'  is  unsolved  ? 
Deliver  up  my  burden,  I  conjure  you,  sister;  it  is,  after 
all,  doubtless  made  heavier  by  anticipation." 

"  Perhaps,"  assented  the  nurse,  her  manner  becoming 
constrained  through  sympathy.  "Yesterday  plague 
number  one  had  scarcely  disappeared,  till  plague  num 
ber  two  appeared  in  the  form  of  a  little  white  envelope. 
It  was  simply  addressed  to  Miss  Newbury,  and  I,  for  the 
moment,  forgetting  that  there  were  two  bearing  that 
title,  opened  it,  of  course."  Reluctantly  producing  the 
little  white  missive  from  the  depth  of  her  pocket,  and 
handing  it  to  Echo,  she  turned  her  eyes,  in  which  tears 
were  gathering,  away. 


2l6  WHAT   CAME    OF   IT. 

Echo  accepted  the  missive  without  a  word,  took  the 
paper  from  the  envelope,  and  read  : 

CITY,  Thursday  evening,  September  14,  187--. 
Miss  NEWBURY  : 

We,  the  choir  of  the church,  take  this  method  of  informing 

you  that  your  services  are  no  longer  acceptable. 

WM.  SMITHE, 

By  order  of  the  Choir. 

The  warm  blood  suffused  the  fair  face  of  the  reader 
for .  an  instant,  and  as  quickly  receded.  The  paper 
dropped  from  her  hand,  and  while  giving  one  quick 
gasp  as  for  breath,  she  fainted  away. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Y  the  sudden  and  secret  departure  of  Echo  and 
the  nurse  from  the  gilded  den  of  Madame 
Joilet,  Edmond  Ainsley  was  given  the  cue 
for  the  practice  of  a  little  deception  towards 
his  mother. 

The  good  lady  was  easily  made  to  believe  that  the 
governess  had  died  of  her  malady. 

A  few  months  afterwards,  Mrs.  Ainsley  returned  to 
her  old  home  in^Quebec. 

Upon  the  moaning  following  her  arrival,  young  Dr. 
Hoberg  was  sent  for,  and  promptly  came. 

Lady  Ainsley  ended  a  long  list  of  pains,  aches  and 
grievances,  with  the  following  startling  question  : 

"  Was  n't  it  dreadful  for  Echo  to  die  and  leave  me 
alone  among  strangers  ?" 

After  the  first  violent  start,  her  listener,  who  was  in 
the  act  of  writing  a  prescription,  sat,  pencil  poised  in 
hand,  completely  shocked  into  silence  by  the  terrible 
news.  Thus  he  sat,  as  if  confounded,  for  a  moment, 
then  spoke — his  words  slow,  short,  and  tottering  as  the 
steps  of  a  child  in  its  first  effort  to  walk. 

"  Dead  !  —  Echo  —  dead  !  Surely  not !  Unsay  that 
cruel  word." 

"  No,  indeed,  doctor,  I  shall  do  no  such  a  thing.  She 
took  suddenly  ill,  afterwards  went  to  her  room  well,  as 


21$  WHAT   CAME   OF    IT. 

it  were,  and  in  the  morning  was  found  in  a  raging 
fever." 

"  O,  that  I  had  known  !  Found,  did  you  sav  ?  sick, 
and  alone  !  Poor  love  !  sweet  love  !"  Then,  starting 
up — "  Made  she  no  request  ?  Was  I  entirely  for 
gotten  ?" 

"  Request  ?  Perhaps  she  did.  I  do  not  know,  I'm 
sure;  you  see  that  the  fever  was  infectious,  and  Edmond 
had  her  taken  right  away  to — 

u  Hear,  O  ye  devils,  and  wonder  at  human  heartless- 
ness  !  Sacrificed,  hy  heavens  !  Poor  lamb  !  poor  lit 
tle  lamb  !  Thrust  out  to  die  alone  and  unattended  ! 
Oh,  Echo  !  Echo  !  would  to  God  we  had  never  parted  !" 

Lady  Ainsley  answered,  peevishly  : 

"Dr.  Hoberg,  I  mistook  you  for  a  man  of  feeling. 
Your  manner,  no  less  than  your  words, "shocks  one  like 
a  galvanic  battery.  You,  of  all  others,  ought  to  be  more 
considerate  of  my  feebleness.  I  did  not  say  that  she 
was  unattended;  on  the  contrary,  Edmond,  my  son,  had 
her  taken  to  a  nice  hospital,  which  took  good  care -of 
her,  I  presume." 

Lady  Ainsley's  " Edmond,  my  son"  was  a  compound 
of  pride,  ownership  and  reverence. 

"  Presume  !  Oh,  God  !  presumption,  in  a  case  like 
that !"  exclaimed  Hoberg,  bitterly.  "  You  should  have 
been  positive,  madam,  positive.  But  why  waste  words  ? 
The  care  of  her  remains  shall,  at  least,  not  be  denied  me. 
You  can  surely  tell  me  the  name  of  the  hospital,  which, 
you  say,  cared  for  her  ?"  pursued  he,  producing  a  note 
book. 

"You  must  go    to    Edmond,   my   son,  for  anything 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

further.  I  have  already  told  you  all  I  know  about  it. 
You  weary  me  to  death.  Your  words  fall  upon  my 
poor,  sensitive  nerves,  like  hail-stones,  crushing  my 
remnant  of  strength  entirely ;"  and  the  lady  was  nearly 
in  tears. 

"  Would  that  they  could  crush  out  your  selfishness,  in 
stead,"  inwardly  commented  Hoberg,  as  he  strode  to  the 
door,  opened  it,  and  departed  without  a  word  of  leave- 
taking. 

Hoberg's  pain  was  now  acute.  He  had  entered  the  house 
but  a  short  time  before,  with  a  mind  full  of  confusion,  or 
what  the  poets  call  "  a  sweet  distress,"  a  state  of  feeling 
produced  by  a  sort  of  compound  emotion ;  that  is  to  say, 
the  thought  of  meeting  the  object  of  his  affection  was 
a  very  pleasing  thought,  allied  to  the  supposition  that 
she  was  lost  to  him,  which  was  in  itself  extremely  dis 
tressing.  Underlying  all,  perhaps,  there  had  been  a 
faint  hope  that  Echo's  heart  would  return  to  its  old 
allegiance.  Hoberg  had  prospered  professionally,  that 
is  to  say,  financially.  A  wealthy  patient,  dying, 
had  left  him  a  small  legacy  of  ten  thousand  dol 
lars.  Consequently,  he  was  now  sole  possessor  of  the 
cottage  which  Echo  had  once  so  desired.  Everything, 
even  the  furnishing,  haVl  been  completed  according  to 
her  wishes. 

On  leaving  Mrs.  Ainsley,  Hoberg  had  walked  but  a 
short  distance,  when,  upon  turning  a  corner,  he  ran 
against  a  man  who  was  coming  up  the  street.  His 
polite  "  Excuse  me,  sir,"  was  interrupted  by — "  Hello  ! 
Hoberg,  as  I  live  !  How  do,  old  boy  ?  Which  way,  so 
fast  ?"  It  was  Edmond  Ainsley. 


22O  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

"  The  one,  above  all  others,  that  I  most  desired  to  see," 
exclaimed  Hoberg,  not  noticing  Ainsley's  extended  hand, 
however.  M  Where  have  you  laid  her  ?" 

With  uplifted  brows,  and  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders, 
Ainsley  exclaimed  : 

"  Aha  !  laid  her  !  laid  who  ?  Hey,  I  see — been  to  a 
wine  party  last  night,  not  entirely  recovered.  Take  my 
arm,  old  boy ;  let  me  assist  you  home.  'Twon't  do  to 
be  seen  by  your  pious  friends  in  such  a  yjlight  as  this." 

In  truth,  Ainsley  was  not  to  blame  for  coming  to  just 
such  a  conclusion  as  he  affected.  There  was  a  sort  of 
stupidity  in  Hoberg's  manner,  and  his  gait  was  unsteady, 
his  voice  thick  and  guttural,  his  head  bent  forward,  and 
his  hat  pulled  down  over  his  contracted  brows. 

Without  giving  a  thought  to  Ainsley's  somewhat  nat 
ural  mistake,  but  with  rather  more  dignity,  he  said,  in 
explanation,  "  'Twas  but  a  few  moments  ago  that  I  first 
heard  of  Miss  Clifford's  death.  Mrs.  Ainsley  referred 
me  to  you  for  all  information  on  the  subject."  Once 
again  taking  out  note-book  and  pencil,  he  added,  "I  wish 
the  address  of  the  hospital  in  which  you  placed  her,  also 
the  name  of  the  attending  physician,  and  the  place  of 
her  burial.  I  shall  have  her  remains  disinterred  and 
brought  home." 

Here  was  a  dilemma  for  which  Ainsley  was  totally 
unprepared,  a  Gordian  Knot  which  plainly  required  a 
coup  d'etat.  He  saw  at  a  glance  that  to  pursuade  him 
from  his  intentions  would  be  useless.  On  the  other  hand, 
should  Hoberg  go  to  San  Francisco,  there  was  a  slight 
chance  of  his  meeting  Echo  and  thereby  becoming  cog 
nizant  of  his,  (Ainsley's),  villainy.  To  withhold  the 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  221 

name  of  the  hospital  would  look  suspicious,  and  be  apt 
to  lead  to  an  unpleasant  investigation  which  it  was 
plainly  his  interest  to  avoid.  It  was  his  intention  to  re 
turn  to  the  Pacific  Coast  and  "bring  down  the  game," 
as  he  styled  his  malicious  persecution  of  Echo.  He  had 
known  Hoberg  from  boyhood,  and  was  perfectly  well 
aware  that  he  was  unable  to  cope  with  him  in  anything 
but  cunning;  therefore,  his  modus  operandi  must  needs 
be  bold  and  crafty.  But,  aggravation!  of  aggravations! 
a  body  must  be  produced !  that  was  the  pivot  which  was 
most  likely  to  turn  the  balance  wheel  of  future  events. 
Vice  has  but  one  halting  place.  Its  roots  reach  down  to 
hell;  and  those  that  start  thereon,  like  boys  coasting  on 
a  steep  hill-side,  though  intending  to  go  but  part  way, 
perhaps,  eventually  find  themselves  at  the  bottom. 

"  The  name  of  the  hospital,"  demanded  Hoberg,  with 
testiness,  "  or,"  here  a  horrible  suspicion  flashed  across 
his  mind,  "perhaps  you  sent  her  to  the  city  hospital?" 

"  Nonsense !"  broke  in  Ainsley.  "  My  memory  is  not 
as  good  as  yours.  The  name  has  escaped  me  for  the 
moment,  and  as  it  is  my  intention  to  return  to  4  Frisco ' 
in  a  few  clays,  I  will  have  the  corpse  disinterred  and  sent 
to  you,  thereby  saving  you  both  time  and  money." 

"Pray,  what  is  time  or  money  to  me  now?"  fiercely 
demanded  Hoberg.  "  I  shall  leave  my  patients  in 
charge  of  a  brother  practitioner,  and  .to-morrow  morn 
ing  will  find  me  on  the  way  to  San  Francisco." 

Ainsley  was  disconcerted,  but  he  said,  with  apparent 
unconcern,  "  If  you  are  determined  to  start  on  your 
quixotic  journey  to-morrow  morning,  I  shall  accompany 
you  and  render  you  all  the  assistance  in  my  power  — 


222  WHAT   CAME    OF    IT. 

though  my  advice  would  be  to  let  the  dead  rest  in 
peace." 

"  I  am  much  obliged,  Ainsley,  for  your  offer,"  re 
sponded  Hoberg,  "  but  all  I  ask  of  you  is  to  furnish  the 
address  of  the  hospital  and  the  place  of  her  burial.  I 
am  perfectly  competent  to  attend  to  everything.  Be 
sides,  Mrs.  Ainsley  requires  your  attention  at  home." 

I've  already  told  you  that  I  intended  returning  to 
'Frisco;'  a  day  or  two  sooner  or  later  makes  no  differ 
ence  to  me.  You  will  find  me  ready  and  waiting  for  you 
at  the  depot  in  the  morning.  The  matter  is  settled,  so 
there  is  no  possible  use  of  further  dilly-dallying.  As 
your  time  for  preparation  is  limited,  allow  me  to  say 
good-bye  for  the  present,"  saying  which,  he  turned  and 
walked  rapidly  away. 

Shortly  afterwards  Ainsley  entered  a  telegraph  office 
and  sent  the  following  dispatch: 

QUEBEC,  CANADA,  October  lyth,  18— . 
DAN  VINTON,  310  —  St., 

San  Francisco,  California : 

I  start  for  'Frisco'  to-morrow.  Rent  a  nicely  furnished  house  in  a 
respectable  neighborhood  and  hold  till  I  come.  Answer. 

AINSLEY. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  hours  he  received  a  telegram 
announcing  that  a  suitable  house  had  been  secured. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

If  OBERG  and  Ainsley  arrived  safely  at  their 
J.l^lll  place  of  destination.  Their  long  and  hurried 
journey  was  fatiguing  and  monotonous,  un 
relieved  by  the  slightest  episode  of  interest. 
During  all  the  time,  Hoberg  had  spoken  only  when  it 
was  absolutely  necessary.  Ainsley's  levity  must  have 
grated  harshly  upon  his  state  of  feeling,  but  after  that 
first  outbreak,  he  had  shielded  himself  in  impenetrable 
reserve.  Though  inly  grieving,  he  was  outwardly 
serene. 

The  dual  quality  of  human  existence  is  too  evident  to 
admit  of  dispute.  Mankind  lead  a  twofold  life,  and  are 
always  better  or  worse  than  they  seem,  and  therefore  the 
inner  capabilities  and  slumbering  probabilities,  like  the 
gold  in  the  mine,  are  sometimes  brought  to  the  surface 
by  laborious  effort  or  by  sudden  upheaval.  Daily  some 
struggling  one,  just  on  the  verge  of  the  under-world, 
perhaps,  awakens  to  the  possibilities  within,  and  discov 
ers  his  true  self,  much  to  the  surprise  of  old  acquaint 
ances. 

"Oh,  pshaw?  that  can't  be  our  Tom?  Impossible? 
Why,  I've  known  him  quite  intimately  ever  since  he 
was  born,  and  never  discovered  anything  remarkable 
about  him ! " 

And,  may  be,  should  "Tom,"  himself, speak  the,  truth 


224  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

upon  his  first  great  achievement,  his  sentiments  would 
differ  nowise  from  those  of  his  friend.  Though  it  may 
be  well,  on  the  one  hand,  to  freely  turn  the  tap  of  our 
being  and  let  the  inner  stream  of  sweetness  and  bright 
ness  flow,  yet  on  the  other,  to  those  who  are  inly  evil 
and  whose  safety  lies  in  suppression,  the  experiment  is 
dangerous  in  the  extreme.  Nurtured  in  the  lap  of  lux 
ury,  Ainsley  had  heretofore  restrained  himself  from 
turning  the  tap  fully,  so  the  slow  droppings  from  his 
"  inner  consciousness,"  when  noticed,  had  been  kindly 
characterized  as  "  youthful  indiscretions,"  whose  proper 
corrector  was  Time.  It  is  also  noticeable  that  though 
the  "  youthful  indiscretions "  of  the  rich  are  left  to  the 
gentle  ameliorations  of  Father  Time,  reformative  schools, 
prisons  and  penitentiaries  are  the  usual  correctors  of 
those  who  have  not  the  cunning  to  evade  or  money  to 
pervert  the  law. 

"  Half  past  nine  o'clock,"  remarked  Ainsley  to  IIo- 
berg,  when  crossing  the  bay  of  San  Francisco.  "  It  is 
too  late  to  attend  to  the  matter  in  hand  this  evening. 
We  will  stop  at  the  '  Grand,'  retire  -early  and  be  ready 
for  business  in  the  morning." 

Securing  rooms  at  the  Grand  Hotel,  Hoberg  immedi 
ately  retired  to  rest.  Ainsley  left  the  house  soon  after 
ward,  and  hailed  a  passing  hack,  which,  under  direction, 
bore  him  to  No.  — ,  Broadway  street.  Leaving  the  car 
riage,  Ainsley  entered  a  brilliantly  lighted  saloon.  Upon 
exchanging  certain  cabalastic  signs  and  pass-words  with 
one  of  the  attendants,  he  was  ushered  into  an  elegantly 
furnished  back  room.  Writing  his  name  upon  a  card 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  225 

he  handed  it  to  the  polite  waiter,  saying,  "  Give  this  to 
Vinton  and  say  that  I  await  him  here." 

Some  twenty  minutes  elapsed  before  Mr.  Vinton  en 
tered  the  apartment. 

"  How  do,  Ainsley?"  was  his  salutation,  while  ad 
vancing  with  extended  hand  which  Ainsley  shook  heart 
ily.  "  Glad  to  see  you,  boy ! " 

"  Same  fix  myself,  Dan,  extremely  glad.  I'm  com 
pletely  badgered,  by  Jove !  Forced  to  walk  obliquely, 
as  it  were,  pushed  aside  from  my  straight  and  narrow 
course.  In  fact,  I've  a  friend  who  must  be  hocus-po 
cused.  Hobson's  choice  you  know  —  no  possible  alter^ 
native !  You  received  that  telegram  ?  " 

"  Of  course ;  and  did  as  you  requested.  Its  all  right, 
so  far,  old  boy,"  said  Vinton,  jovially,  clapping  him  upon 
the  shoulder." 

"  Well,  not  to  elongate,  there  was  a  young  girl  who 
accompanied  Mrs.  Ainsley  to  this  coast  as  a  companion, 
leaving  behind  a  betrothed  lover  in  Canada.  Now  this 
girl  and  I  took  to  each  other  as  ducks  take  to  water," 
winking  at  Vinton,  who  nodded  understandingly,  and 
both  laughed  noisily.  "  There  are  hearts  which  bill  and 
coo  without  priestly  sanction,"  continued  Ainsley.  "  Of 
course  the  affair  must  needs  be  kept  from  Mrs.  Ainsley, 
so,  when  the  girl  was  smitten  with  a  fever,  I  had  her  re 
moved  to  a  hospital  and  taken  care  of;  but  my  mother 
returned  home  while  laboring  under  the  impression  that 
the  girl  was  dead,  and  so  informed  the  fiery  young  lover, 
who  called  immediately.  Well,  what  did  this  Don 
Quixote  of  a  lover  do  but  demand  the  name  and  address 

of  her  attending  physician,  saying  that  he  should  re- 
10 


226  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

move   the  body  to  Canada!     By  Jove!    Dan,  its  a  fix!" 

"  The  lover,  in  question,  is  a  doctor  by  profession,  the 
son  of  a  minister,  who   is   an  old  acquaintance  of   my 
mother.     As  money  is   no  object,"  pursued  he,  after  a 
moment's   hesitation,  "  I   thought   I   would   get  you  to 
manage  the  affair.     You  can  easily  arrange   about  the    I 
hospital  business.     Give  Iiim   the  name  of  some  doctor    j 
who  has  left  the  oity,  or  ;  fix '  one  for  his  benefit.     The 
procuring  of  a  proper  body  is   the  straw  which  seems  I 
most  likely  to  break  the  camel's  back." 

Ainsley  paused.  With  keen,  half-  shut  eyes  concen 
trated  on  the  main  chance,  as  it  were,  Vinton  sat  before 
him  expectantly,  his  head  thrown  well  back.  At  the 
mention  of  money,  both  hands  opened  involuntarily. 

"Risky  business,  Ainsley;    for  which  you  say    that  • 
money  is  no  object  —  an  indefinite  expression.     Give  us 
an  offer." 

"  A  thousand  ?"  said  Ainsley,  twisting  his  mustache, 
nervously. 

Vinton  shook  his  head. 

"Two  thousand?" 

Vinton  brushed  the  ashes  from  'his  cigar  with  a  dex 
terous  movement  of  his  little  finger,  and  shook  his  head 
again. 

"  Name  your  price,  then,"  said  Ainsley. 

Vinton  leisurely  blew  a  wreath  of  smoke  into  the  air, 
and  began  to  muse,  with  a  look  of  pious  concern.  "  It's 
a  tough  business,  perhaps  a  dangerous  business,  seeing 
that  I  must  take  your  word  for  the  real  status  of  the  in 
trigue,"  he  said,  slowty,  "  and  the  man  that  mixes  in  it 
must  be  well  paid,  The  judgment  of  the  court  is,  there*, 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  22^ 

fore,  Ainsley,  that  five  thousand  dollars -from  a  man  in 
your  circumstances  will  about  cover  the  time,  trouble 
and  risk  of  the  undertaking." 

Ainsley  helped  himself  to  a  glass  of  brandy  from  the 
decanter  that  stood  on  the  table  between  them,  and  then 
replied  — 

"  Five  thousand !  by  Jove,  Dan,  you  would  have  done 
credit  to  yourself  in  the  Claude  Duval  business!  Isn't 
five  thousand  rather  cool,  rather  steep  ? " 

"Just  a  trifle  frigid  and  declivitous,  old  man,  but  bus 
iness  is  business,  the  world  over,  and  I  am  deucedly  hard 
up  these  days.  You  wouldn't  come  to  me  with  a  bag 
atelle —  of  that  I  am  assured.  Come,  shall  it  be  five 
thousand  and  a  clean  job  ? " 

"  I  have  no  other  recourse,  you  Richelieu  of  finance !" 

Then  the  two  friends  held  a  long  consultation  on  the 
ways  and  means  of  their  projected  villainy,  and  the 
streets  were  almost  deserted  when  Ainsley  finally  sepa 
rated  from  the  other  and  sought  his  hotel. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

EFORE  the  events  last  narrated  had  occurred, 
additional  misfortunes  had  befallen  our  hero 
ine.  Why  is  it  that  some  of  our  great  mod 
ern  thinkers  do  not  explain  the  gregarious 
character  of  calamities?  A  full  knowledge  of  the  law 
would  undoubtedly  be  of  inestimable  service  to  mankind. 
How  many  old  sayings  turn  upon  this  pivot  of  the 
world's  faith !  The  poets  are  full  of  beautiful  references 
to  it,  as  the  following  from  "Hiawatha:" 

"Never  stoops  the  soaring  vulture 
On  his  quarry  on  the  desert, 
On  the  sick  or  wounded  bison, 
But  another  vulture,  watching 
From  his  high  aerial  look-out, 
Sees  the  downward  plunge  and  follows'; 
And  a  third  pursues  the  second, 
Coming  from  the  invisible  ether, 
First  a  speck,  and  then  a  vulture, 
Till  the  air  is  dark  with  pinions. 
So  disasters  come  not  singly ; 
But  as  if  they  watched  and  waited, 
Scanning  one  another's  motions. 
When  the  first  descends,  the  others 
Follow,  follow,  gathering  flockwise 
Round  their  victim,  sick  and  wounded, 
First  a  shadow,  then  a  sorrow, 
Till  the  air  is  dark  with  anguish,'* 


WHAT   CAME    OP    IT.  229 

Aunt  Newbury  had  suffered  a  relapse,  and  little  Wistit 
had  been  stricken  with  a  fatal  disease. 

,It  was  a  glorious  night  for  the  passage  of  the  pure, 
young  spirit.  The  rays  from  the  brilliant  luminaries 
swimming  in  the  vault  of  space  kindled  the  clear,  Cali 
fornia  atmosphere  almost  as  resplendently  as  the  beams 
of  the  noonday  sun  —  and  yet  it  was  a  strange,  sweet 
light  —  as  still,  shadowless  and  mysterious  as  the  patient 
smile  of  God  upon  the  populous  immensity  of  His 
Kingdom. 

Sunshine  and  shadow  chase  each  other  around  the 
arena  of  life,  and  the  heavy  footsteps  of  sorrow  trample 
upon  the  golden  skirts  of  fleeting  pleasures.  The 
joy-bells  hung  within  the  chambers  of  the  heart  scarce 
ring  their  welcome  to  some  new-found  love,  till  a  sob  of 
bereavement  rises  in  their  music,  and  the  shadow  of  the 
grave  falls  across  the  still  threshold  of  the  soul. 

The  noise  and  bustle  of  the  busy  world  without  had 
ceased  to  mar  the  solemn  stillness.  The  softened  splen 
dor  of  the  star-light  had  crept  through  the  apartment 
and  given  to  the  modest  interior  a  dreamy  peacefulness, 
as  lovely  as  the  sacred  reveries  it  inspired. 

Wistit  was  still  sleeping.  One  tiny  hand,  so  soft  and 
white  now  that  a  snowflake  might  have  marred  its  deli 
cate  purity,  lay  grasping  the  counterpane.  The  tender 
eyes  were  closed.  There  was  a  faint  smile  seated  upon 
the  gentle  mouth  which  told  that  sleep  had  brought  free 
dom  from  pain. 

Echo,  gazing  fondly  upon  her  perishing  waif,  parted 
the  damp  curls  from  her  waxen  brow  and  kissed  it  softly, 
while  tears  of  anguish  coursed  their  way  down  her  pale 


230  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

cheeks.  Then,  going  to  the  window,  she  stretched  out 
her  arms  towards  heaven  as  if,  groping  in  the  darkness 
of  uncertainty,  she  longed  to  grasp  "  the  substance  of 
things  hoped  for,  the  evidence  of  things  not  seen;"  and 
gazing  upward,  as  if  her  love  could  pierce  the  misty  cur 
tain  of  ethereal  blue  and  compel  an  answer,  from  the 
depths  of  her  stricken  soul  arose  a  silent  prayer,  more 
eloquent  than  words  can  frame.  It  was  the  burning  call 
of  the  subject  spirit  to  the  Sovereign  for  help  when  the 
sea  of  shadows  rises  to  clasp  the  poor  feet  faltering  upon 
the  rocks  of  despair. 

The  silvery  tones  of  the  little  time-piece  chimed  out 
the  hour  of  twelve,  and  still  Echo  kept  her  watch  be 
side  the  couch  of  her  dear  one,  whilst  the  nervous  clasp 
ing  and  unclasping  of  her  hands,  and  the  flames  of  an 
guish  illumining  her  dark  eyes,  betrayed  something  of 
her  soul's  struggle. 

The  damp  of  death  slowly  gathered  upon  the  brow 
of  the  sleeper,  as  morning  dew  upon  a  withering  lily, 
plucked  by  some  careless  hand  and  left  to  perish.  Would 
the  white-winged  soul  depart  silently  thus,  and  make  no 
sign?  Would  those  dear  treasures  —  the  last  word,  the 
last  glance,  the  last  kiss  of  the  dying  —  not  be  vouch 
safed  to  the  darkened  household? 

The  child's  pulse  was  growing  fainter.  The  dreadful 
paroxysms  of  pain  were  gone  forever.  The  hectic  flush 
was  fading  from  her  cheeks.  The  fever  which  had 
raged  in  her  veins  for  many  days  was  cooling  rapidly 
under  the  icy  breath  of  the  slayer  of  humanity. 

There  was  poignant,  though  suppressed,  grief  in  that 
chamber  —  a  sorrow  more  deep  and  true  than  that  which 


WHAT   CAME   OF   IT.  23! 

gives  way  to  tears,  groans  and  cries.  Noisy  sorrow  is 
more  or  less  selfish  and  ephemeral;  they  suffer  most 
and  longest  whose  hearts  bleed  in  silence. 

While  Echo  stood  there,  watching  with  silent  dread 
the  parting  of  the  spirit  from  its  statue  of  painted  clay, 
the  eyes  of  the  sleeper  suddenly  opened  wide  with  a 
scared  look,'  as  turning  them  in  the  direction  where  her 
protector  had  last  been  seen,  she  asked  in  a  frightened 
voice, 

"Where  is  you,  Eto?" 

"  Close  beside  you,  darling,"  Echo  replied  as  she  knelt 
beside  the  bed. 

'•  I  hear,  but  can't  see,  Eto.  I'm  afraid  of  the  dark, 
and  it's  very  cold." 

The  groping  hands  felt  fondly  over  Echo's  face  and 
rested  upon  her  neck  as  the  shivering,  pallid  lips  mur 
mured  faintly,  "Hold  me  close,  Eto;  I'm  so  cold  and  the 
big  black  cloud  is  coming  nearer." 

Then  she  was  silent  for  a  while.  Suddenly,  a  beauti 
ful  smile  broke  over  the  pale,  childish  features,  as,  point 
ing  outward  and  upward,  she  exclaimed  in  a  voice  of 
rapture  — 

"Oh,  Eto!  look  there!  look  there!" 

"What  is  it,  my  sweet  darling?"  said  Echo,  stifling  a 
great  sob ;  "  I  can  see  nothing." 

"  Look !  Oh,  how  sweet  and  pretty !  It  is  the  beau 
tiful  country  that  mamma  said  I  should  come  to  by-and- 
by — I  can  see  it  behind  the  cloud  !  There  are  no  clouds 
there  !  The  gates  are  open,  and  they  shine  like  the 
moon  when  the  sky  is  blue.  I  can  hear  the  music  and 
see  the  happy  children — and  look  !  you  must  surely  see 


232  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT* 

her — there  is  mamma  !  Oh,  good-bye,  Eto  !  mamma  is 
holding  out  her  arms  to  me,  and  she  is  so  pretty  now  ! 
Good-bye  !  Wistit  will  wait  for  you  at  the  gate  !" 

It  was  all  over  then  !  The  prison-gates  of  life  were 
unlocked  by  the  silent  warden,  Death,  and  the  happy 
soul  went  forth,  to  feel  the  pain  of  death  no  more.  The 
invisible  spirit  retired  unspotted  from  the  misty  vales  of 
time,  and  passed  into  the  opening  cloud  of  mystery  for 
ever. 

Thank  God,  for  these  glimpses  of  the  eternal  world 
that  shine  before  the  feet  of  the  dread  messenger ! 
Thank  God,  for  the  beautiful  "  superstition "  that 
wreathes  these  glowing  visions  on  the  brows  of  our 
dying  children  ! 

We  will  not  unveil  the  sorrows  of  that  sacred  chamber 
any  further.  Years  afterward,  in  a  happier  time,  Echo 
twined  this  poetic  garland  for  the  little  grave  at  Lone 
Mountain  : 

Softly  the  winds  are  sighing, 

On  the  mountain  by  the  sea, 
Where  my  Waif  is  lonely  lying, 

Far  away  from  love  and  me. 

No  costly  marble,  shining, 

Marks  the  sacred  little  spot, 
Only  a  rose-bush  twining 

'Mid  the  blue  forget-me-not. 

The  dewy  morning,  weeping, 

Drops  for  me  a  trembling  tear 
Upon  the  rose-bush,  keeping 

Its  watch  throughout  the  year. 


WHAT   CAME   OP    IT.  23$ 

The  fairy  moonbeams  sparkle, 

And  the  pearly  mists  roll  on; 
The  eddying  rainbows  darkle, 

And,  like  gleaming  hopes,  are  gone. 

But  my  heart  still  mourns  her  truly, 

And  her  angel  wing,  I  know, 
Fragrant  from  flowery  Beulah, 

Beareth  away  my  woe. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

A 

^L.y 

|P WEEK  had  passed  since  the  death  of  her  lit 
tle  protege,  and  Echo  was  still  in  the  depths 
of  gloom.  Aunt  Newhury  was  slowly  re 
covering,  but  still  not  a  ray  of  hope  lighted  the 
music  teacher's  future.  Oh,  how  short  her  praying 
breath  was  in  those  days — how  stricken  and  dead  her 
faith  !  Providence  can  crush  the  strongest  of  us  so 
easily.  The  atmosphere  that  rings  with  the  music  and 
laughter  of  the  happy,  is  heavy  with  the  groans  of 
broken  spirits.  The  juggernaut  of  fate  grinds  some  of 
us  utterly  in  the  dust,  but  the  world  goes  on  as  merrily 
as  ever  without  us.  If  we  be  Christians,  our  daily  and 
nightly  prayer  must  be  for  strength  to  bear  the  burdens 
that  are  cast  upon  us;  if  we  be  not  Christians,  we  can 
only  clench  our  teeth  and  die  as  the  dumb  brutes  die. 
Some  Minneapolis  flouring  mills  were  blown  to  atoms 
the  other  day,  occasioning  great  loss  of  life,  and  the  sci 
entific  people  say  that  it  resulted  from  the  explosive 
quality  of  the  impalpable  powder  of  flour  suspended 
in  the  air — that  is  to  say,  that  an  atmosphere  impregnated 
with  the  best  elements  of  life  is  suddenly^roused  to  hurl 
the  terrific  bolts  of  death.  We  are,  everywhere  and  al 
ways,  at  the  mercy  of  the  mighty  forces  of  nature.  And 
yet  we  must  not  falter,  even  in  the  routine  duties  of  life, 
but  must  find  our  relief  from  heart-sorrows  in  the  labor 
that  wins  our  bread. 


WHAT    CAME   OF    IT.  235 

But  Echo's  world  had  conspired  to  deprive  her  even 
of  labor.  The  number  of  her  pupils  had  fallen  off  to  a 
very  few,  and  the  necessities  of  sickness  had  exhausted 
the  money  she  had  laid  by  for  a  rainy  day.  Surely  the 
blackness  of  despair  had  fallen  upon  her  now — that  dark 
est  hour,  which  is  said  to  precede  the  day. 

She  had  changed  much  of  late.  A  strange  pallor  had 
succeeded  the  fresh  glow  of  her  complexion,  and  a  deep 
shadow  seemed  to  hover  about  her  drooping  eyes. 

She  sat  at  the  window  with  a  book  in  her  lap,  but  she 
had  no  intention  of  reading.  The  book  was  simply  that 
sort  of  silent  company  she  would  have  preferred  in  her 
best  friend.  There  are  dark  times  when  there  is  no  sol 
ace  in  book  or  friend. 

While  thus  sitting,  her  cheek  resting  upon  her  slender 
white  hand,  and  gazing  dreamily  into  the  street,  she  was 
suddenly  startled,  so  far  away  had  been  her  thoughts, 
by  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Farrish  at  the  front  steps. 
He  lifted  his  hat,  with  a  grave  smile,  at  her  sudden 
movement  of  surprise,  and  she  arose  to  give  him  ad 
mittance.  He  took  her  hand  in  gentle  greeting  at  the 
door,  and  held  it  for  an  instant  as  he  looked  into  her  face, 
and  remarked  its  exceedingly  sorrowful  expression.  He 
was  completely  overcome  by  his  sympathies,  and  could 
not  say  a  word  as  he  took  the  chair  she  proffered  him. 
At  last,  with  a  quiver  of  pathos  in  his  rich  voice,  he 
said  : 

"  I  am  afraid  that  you  have  been  very  unhappy,  and 
very,  very  much  in  need  of  friendly  offices.  I  have  been 
out  of  the  city  for  many  days,  and  have  just  returned  and 
learned  of  your  loss." 


236  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

The  tears  coursed  silently  down  her  faded  cheeks  as 
she  answered  : 

"  Yes,  my  friend,  the  Lord  has  seen  fit  to  afflict  me 
very  sorely." 

The  strong  man  could  restrain  himself  no  longer  at 
this,  and  bowed  his  head  in  his  hands  and  wept.  Both 
were  in  tears,  and  it  was  several  minutes  before  another 
word  was  spoken. 

Raising  his  head,  finally,  when  he  had  sufficiently 
conquered  his  emotion,  he  said  : 

"  Ah,  my  dear  lady,  you  are  so  utterly  alone,  and  your 
fortunes  are  so  untoward  !  Do  let  me  have  your  con 
fidence,  and  be  your  friend." 

She  could  no  longer  hesitate,  having  seen  the  tender 
ness  and  truth  of  his  nature,  and  thus  responded  : 

"  My  sorrows  have  broken  me  sadly,  but  I  know  that 
I  can  trust  you,  and  I  will,  therefore,  confide  to  you  the 
story  of  my  life." 

And  so,  while  the  mystic  twilight  was  gathering  in 
the  apartment,  she  began  at  the  beginning  and  told  him 
all  she  knew  concerning  the  events  that  had  affected  her 
life. 

As  the  narrative  progressed,  it  was  apparent  that  Mr. 
Farrish  was  laboring  under  the  strongest  excitement,  and 
when  she  had  finished  he  rushed  across  the  room  and 
seized  her  hand,  exclaiming  : 

"  Let  me  salute  you,  then,  by  a  stronger  title  than  that 
of  friend — I  am  the  cousin  of  your  father,  and  therefore 
a  relative  of  yours  !  Why,  I  was  named  after  Cleave 
Clifford,  and  we  attended  the  same  school  1  Bless  my 
soul,  what  a  happy  discovery  ! 


WHAT   CAME    OF    IT.  237 

Echo  was  no  less  joyfully  agitated  than  her  new-found 
kinsman.  A  mysterious  orphan,  having  never  known 
any  relative  but  her  grandmother,  there  had  always  been 
in  her  heart  a  hungry  yearning  for  the  deep  and  inde 
finable  sympathy  of  kindred  blood.  It  is  strangely  true, 
as  the  old  adage  has  it,  that  blood  is  thicker  than  water. 
The  crimson  currents  of  the  heart  flow  intuitively  in 
gulf-streams  of  eternal  affection. 

Therefore  a  bright  flush  mantled  Echo's  wasted 
cheeks,  as  she  cried,  enthusiastically  : 

"  Oh,  my  friend,  my  kinsman,  it  is  indeed  a  happy  dis 
covery  !  It  is  more  to  me  than  the  discovery  of  a  con 
tinent.  An  oasis  has  appeared  in  the  desert  of  my  life, 
at  last !  A  golden  anchor  of  hope  has  dropped  to  me 
from  Heaven,  and  I  shall  be  tempest-tossed  no  more  !" 

She  wept  again,  for  joy  this  time,  and  he  tenderly 
kissed  her  forehead,  and  thanked  God  for  the  new  bless 
ing  that  had  arisen  in  his  prosperous  life. 

"  Do  you  know,  Echo,  dear,"  he  said,  "  that  glowing 
vistas  of  joy  open  up  before  you  now  ?  We  will  clear 
away  the  mystery  that  has  shrouded  your  life — we  will 
find  your  parents  !" 

She  placed  her  hand  on  her  heart,  to  still  its  wild 
throbbing. 

"  Oh,  if  we  do,  the  crown  of  Elysium  will  be  mine  on 
earth  !  And  why  may  it  not  be  ?  We  do  not  know 
that  they  are  dead;  and  while  some  great  calamity  must 
have  befallen  them,  it  is  possible  that*  grandmother  may 
have  been  deceived  as  to  its  true  character,  and  that  no 
dishonor  really  clouds  their  names." 

"  Yes,  dear,  you  are  right.      Your  grandmother,  ad- 

\ 


238  WHAT  CAME  OP  if. 

vanced  in  years  and  living  alone,  was  a  strong,  self- 
contained  woman — one,  above  all  others,  whose  family 
skeleton  would  be  kept  from  the  sight  and  hearing  of 
the  world.  That  you,  the  child  of  her  wayward  and 
unfortunate  son,  were  living  with  her,  was  a  fact  that  she 
never,  doubtless,  revealed  to  her  nearest  living  kindred. 
She  kept  you  secluded,  as  you  say,  and  in  her  later  years 
seems  to  have  repented  that  she  had  done  so.  In  the 
pride  and  reserve  of  her  nature,  the  family  trouble,  what 
ever  it  may  have  been,  must  have  assumed  unnatural 
proportions^  and  it  is  just  possible  that  she  was  thus  led 
to  commit  a  great  wrong  in  withholding  from  you  the 
secret  of  your  parent's  misfortunes." 

"I  believe  that  you  are  correct  in  the  estimate  you 
have  given  of  her  character,"  said  Echo,  as  her  thoughts 
turned  reverently  to  the  memory  of  her  dead  relative, 
"  but  she  was  none  the  less  the  truest  and  noblest  woman 
that  ever  lived.  She  was  guided  by  a  high  sense  of  duty 
in  all  things,  great  and  small,  and  her  judgment  was  so 
clear  that  she  could  not  have  often  erred ;  and  yet,  in  any 
matter  affecting  her  family  name,  she  might  have  fallen 
into  a  mistaken  line  of  conduct." 

"By  the  way,  since  you  know  so  little  of  the  family 
history,  may  there  not  be  others,  former  friends  and 
neighbors  of  your  grandmother,  who  have  some  in 
formation  in  regard  to  the  matter  ?" 

"Ah,  indeed,  that  is  a  happy  suggestion  !  At  the 
death  of  my  grandmother,  I  resided  for  some  time  in  the 
family  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Hoberg,  our  parish  pastor.  He 
was  grandmother's  dearest  and  most  intimate  friend,  and 
has  in  his  possession  some  sort  of  mysterious  souvenir — 


WHAT  CAME  OF  IT.  239 

a  legacy  from  the  dear  old  lady — which  was  to  be  de 
livered  to  me  only  on  my  marriage  day.  Dear  me,  I 
had  nearly  forgotten  that !"  said  Echo,  for  the  first  time 
seeming  to  realize  the  strategic  importance  of  that 
legacy  in  unraveling  the  dark  tangle  of  the  parental 
history. 

"  Why,  that  legacy  will  put  the  clew  of  the  whole 
mystery  in  our  hands  !"  said  Farrish,  rising  in  his  excite 
ment  and  pacing  the  floor.  "  But  hold  !  your  marriage 
day  ?" 

Echo  colored  at  this  suggestion,  as  she  thought  of  her 
disappointed  love,  but  she  replied  : 

"  That  is  another  difficulty,  perhaps  an  insurmountable 
one,  but  then  the  pastor  doubtless  knows  enough  about 
the  affair  to  put  some  frail  thread  of  discovery  in  our 
way." 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Farrish,  gazing  quizzically  at 
the  ceiling,  after  the  manner  of  a  man  in  pursuit  of  an 
idea,  "  that  it  is  my  candid  opinion  that  your  affianced 
never  really  turned  away  from  you  ?" 

"  The  evidence  seems  indisputable,"  said  Echo,  with 
an  instantaneous  return  of  her  former  melancholy;  "I 
have  the  letters  of  his  sister  and  himself  in  regard  to  his 
change  of  feeling." 

"  That  may  be ;  but  letters  can  be  counterfeited  where 
there  is  a  long  purse  to  sustain  the  experiment.  I  sus 
pect  that  rich  young  villain,  Ainsley,  of  having  been  at 
the  bottom  of  the  trouble." 

"I  should  like  to  hope  so,"  said  Echo,  with  a  sad 
smile ;  "  but  a  true  lover  would  have  followed  me  and 
found  out  the  truth,  personally." 


240  WHAT    CAME   OP   IT. 

"  Undoubtedly,  cousin,  under  ordinary  circumstances ; 
but  perhaps  he  is  also  relying  on  the  testimony  of  false 
letters,  and  was,  as  I  hope  it  may  prove  that  you  were, 
entangled  in  a  subtly  woven  plot.  But  that  matter 
shall  be  looked  after,  too,"  concluded  Farrish,  with  an 
energetic  shake  of  his  head. 

"  Oh,  dear,"  said  Echo,  rising  suddenly,  "  I  have  com 
pletely  forgotten  Aunt  Newbury  in  the  startling  interest 
of  our  conversation.  Let  us  repair  to  her  room  at  once, 
and  acquaint  her  with  the  new  aspect  of  affairs." 

The  tender-hearted  invalid  was  inexpressibly  delighted 
at  the  information  they  conveyed,  and  declared  that  she 
needed  no  other  elixir  to  insure  her  immediate  re 
covery. 

When  the  whole  story  had  been  told,  Farrish  ob 
served  that  they  must  make  up  a  programme. 

"It  is  necessarily  a  simple  one,  too,"  he  continued, 
"  and  may  be  briefly  stated.  In  the  first  place,  you  have 
no  particular  reason  to  desire  to  return  to  Canada,  just 
now,  so  that  you  and  our  dear  Aunt  Newbury  may  take 
up  your  residence  at  a  delightful  little  summer  home  of 
mine  at  San  Rafael — where  both  of  you  will  find  release 
from  present  anxieties,  and  the  most  healthful  atmos 
phere  in  the  world.  As  for  the  party  of  the  second  part, 
I  shall  immediately  visit  Canada  and  leave  not  a  stone 
unturned  to  discover  what  we  seek.  Come,  cousin," 
lifting  his  finger,  playfully,  towards  Echo,  "not  a  word 
of  opposition  !  I  claim  my  prerogatives  as  a  relative, 
and  am  not  a  man  to  be  thwarted,  I  can  tell  you." 

This  arrangement  was  agreed  to,  and  Farrish  soon 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  24! 

after  took  his  leave,  amid  mutual  expressions  of  esteem 
and  affection. 

Once  again,  that  night,  in  the  pure  maiden's  heart, 
welled  up  the  eternal  fountains  of  faith,  love,  trust,  and 
hope — and  she  was  a  living,  beautiful  soul. 


CHPTER    XXXII. 

'HEN  Mr.  Edmond  Ainsley,  on  the  night  of 
his  business  interview  with   Vinton,  retired 
to  his  luxurious  apartments  at  the  Grand,  he 
did  not  immediately  court  his  pillow,  although 
the  hour  was  late. 

He  lit  another  cigar  and  sat  for  a  long  while  in  partial 
undress,  and  the  profoundest  meditation.  No  qualms  of 
conscience  beset  him.  He  was  not  subject  to  internecine 
struggles  of  that  kind.  He  was  anxious,  principally  on 
his  mother's  account,  to  maintain  his  social  standing  at 
home ;  what,  then,  if  his  stupendous  scheme,  with  all  the 
ugly  incidents  yet  to  ensue  in  connection  therewith, 
should  finally  leak  into  the  public  ear  at  Quebec  ?  That 
was  not  all;  there  was  another  danger  more  material 
than  the  probability  of  social  ostracism — the  avenging 
wrath  of  Dr.  Hoberg  ! 

But  how  could  he  avert  the  vengeance  of  Hoberg 
now — in  case  he  should  choose  to  let  the  matter  drop  ? 
The  thing  was  impossible — that  cruel  scalpel,  "  red  with 
insufferable  wrath,"  menaced  his  path,  turn  which  way- 
he  would — with  the  greater  chances  of  safety  in  favor  of 
a  forward  movement. 

While  at  home,  he  had  satisfied  himself  that  Echo  no 
longer  corresponded  with  any  of  her  former  friends. 
With  her  present  silence  assured,  he  believed  that  he 


$WHAT   CAME    OF    IT.  243 

could  trust  himself  with  the  management  of  her  future. 
He  was  a  rake  and  high-flyer  of  the  wildest  pretension, 
and  he  conceived  that  the  accomplishment  of  his  black 
designs  with  reference  to  the  unfortunate  young  lady 
could  not  possibly  be  long  deferred.  Having  once 
achieved  the  destruction  of  her  honor,  he  would  be  safe 
— no  pale  face  would  ever  reappear  among  former  scenes 
to  vex  the  slumber  of  the  fraudulent  remains. 

Echo  was  the  loveliest  girl  he  had  ever  pursued,  and 
she  had  repelled  him  so  disdainfully  that  he  meant  to 
have  revenge,  the  sweetest  and  best  the  case  afforded. 
He  had  hunted  down  so  many  women  successfully,  that 
the  word  failure  was  no  longer  in  the  vocabulary  of  his 
wicked  amours. 

Does  it  occur  to  this  easy-going  world  that  a  frightful 
number  of  its  millionaires,  wine-heated,  thick-blooded 
men,  are  the  slaves  of  their  brutal  lusts,  and  that  much  of 
their  money  goes  towards  conquering  fresh  territories 
of  female  virtue  ?  It  is  a  sickening  thought — one  that 
may  well  constrain  us  to  despise  men  and  to  blush  for 
the  fra;lty  of  women. 

"  I  must  gain  time  for  Vinton's  machinations  by  giving 
out  that  I  have  a  frightful  headache,  when  that  tragic 
doctor  calls,  as  I  am  sure  he  will  at  an  early  hour,"  mur 
mured  Ainsley,  as  he  finally  threw  away  the  stub  of  his 
cigar,  and  got  into  bed. 

Doctor  Hoberg  was  in  a  fever  of  unrest  all  night,  and 
arose  at  six  o'clock.  For  two  hours  he  wandered  aim 
lessly  about  the  streets,  had  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  then 
returned  to  the  hotel.  Ainsley  was  not  yet  visible,  and 
a  waiter  was  sent  to  inquire  after  him,  and  inform  him 


244  WHAT   CAME   OF   IT. 

* 

that  Doctor  Hoberg  would  be  glad  to  see  him  as  soon  as 
possible. 

The  servant  brought  word  that  Mr.  Ainsley  was  much 
indisposed,  and  had  not  yet  arisen. 

The  doctor  hurried  up  to  his  room  and  found  him  just 
putting  a  fresh  application  of  wet  towels  to  his  head, 
while  an  ominous  glass  of  claret  and  ice  ornamented  the 
stand  at  his  bedside. 

"  Good  morning,  doctor,"  he  drawled.  "  By  Jove  ! 
I'm  horribly  bruised  !  Never  had  such  a  villainous, 
racking  headache  in  my  life.  'Pon  my  word,  it's 
killing." 

Hoberg  felt  very  much  like  kicking  him  into  immedi 
ate  convalescence,  so  great  was  his  vexation,  but  he  said, 
quietly : 

"  Will  you  not  be  able  to  be  out  soon  ?" 

"Not  until  the  afternoon,  I  fear;  but  there  will  then 
be  time  enough  to  attend  to  the  matters  contemplated." 

"  At  what  hour  shall  I  call,  then  ?" 

"Say  about  two  o'clock, doctor;  I  shall  struggle  upon 
my  feet  by  that  time,  and  be  able  to  accompany  you." 

"  Very  well ;  I  am  suffering  great  anxiety,  and  shall 
be  here  promptly  at  the  hour." 

"  I  was  born  for  a  prime  minister,  by  Jove  !"  ex 
claimed  Ainsley,  as  soon  as  the  doctor  had  gone ;  and  he 
threw  off  the  wet  bandages,  and  took  a  glass  of  wine. 

Doctor  Hoberg  had  an  age  before  him,  seemingly,  un 
til  the  hour  appointed ;  but  the  wheels  of  time,  roll  they 
never  so  heavily,  yet  constantly  roll,  and  two  o'clock  was 
finally  at  hand. 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  245 

He  found  Ainsley,  elegantly  attired  and  looking  clean 
and  cool,  waiting  for  him  in  the  hotel  parlor. 

As  they  passed  out  again  together,  Ainsley  re 
marked  : 

"  The  physician  we  desire  to  see  has  an  office  on 
Kearney  street,  and  we  had  better  take  him  along." 

Hoberg  nodded  his  head  in  acquiescence,  and  the  office 
of  Doctor  Turner  was  soon  reached.  He  was  a  large, 
fine-looking  man,  and  his  manner  had  the  charm  of  dig 
nified  affability.  There  was  a  trifle  too  much  gloss  of 
broadcloth  and  glitter  of  jewelry  in  his  outward  adorn 
ment,  perhaps,  but  dress  is  no  criterion  of  the  quality  of 
the  man. 

"  I  was  very  much  interested  in  the  case  of  that  young 
lady,  Doctor  Hoberg,"  said  he,  after  the  usual  intro 
duction  had  passed,  and  their  business  had  been  made 
known.  "  I  struggled  hard  to  save  her,  but  the  disease 
took  one  of  those  sudden  turns  which  so  often  baffle  the 
truest  skill,  and  all  was  over  soon." 

"  Was  she  conscious  at  the  last  ?"  said  Hoberg,  with  a 
stifled  moan.  "  Did  she  leave  no  parting  word  for  her 
friends  ?" 

"She  was  conscious,  my  dear  doctor,  but  too  weak 
for  utterance.  Her  breath  passed  as  gently  as  the  sigh 
of  a  summer  wind,  so  gently  that  I  was  scarcely  aware 
that  the  catastrophe  had  occurred.  Before  that  she  had 
raved  continually,  calling  often  upon  some  one  named 
1  Arthur.' " 

A  great  sigh  shook  the  bosom  of  that  Arthur  upon 
whom  the  dying  girl  had  called. 

After  that  they  walked  along,  conversing  on  indifFer- 


246  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

ent  topics,  until  they  appeared  before  the  establishment 
of  Madame  Joilet,  Stockton  street,  where  Echo  had  so 
nearly  passed  to  her  "  long  account." 

Houses  of  this  kind,  like  the  great  gambling  hells,  are 
always  shrouded  in  an  atmosphere  of  quiet.  Respecta 
bility  sits  throned  above  their  carved  portals,  the  deadly 
sins  are  stealthy.  The  assassin  cfeeps  and  whispers — 
never  talks  or  walks. 

When  the  gentlemen  had  been  ushered  into  a  spacious 
and  richly  appointed  waiting-room,  Madame  Joilet, 
dressed  in  subdued  taste  t6  suit  the  occasion,  appeared. 
She  had  become  in  appearance  a  complete  epitome  of  all 
matronly  virtues. 

She  greeted  the  city  doctor  with  a  meek  smile  of 
recognition,  and  extended  the  same  favor  to  Ainsley, 
expressing  the  hope  that  they  found  themselves  well. 
Doctor  Hoberg  was  then  introduced,  and  the  business 
nature  of  the  call  stated. 

Madame  Joilet,  although  a  native  of  France,  spoke 
English  with  a  perfect  accent,  her  language  being  il 
lustrated  with  a  limited  number  of  Gallic  shrugs  and 
gestures. 

"  Ah,  indeed  !"  said  she,  glancing  at  Hoberg,  with  a 
look  of  mournful  interest;  "you  are,  then,  the  relative. 
or  friend  of  that  beautiful  and  unfortunate  creature  ?" 

The  doctor  bowed. 

"  I  have  thought  of  her  so  often — so  often,"  resumed 
the  kind  matron.  "  It  will  give  me  the  greatest  pleas 
ure  to  aid  your  affectionate  undertaking." 

She  then  handed  him  the  certificate  to  the  proper  mi 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  247 

thorities,  which  she  had  just  -written  at  his  request,  and 
the  gentleman  withdrew. 

Madame  Joilet  had  nearly  warbled  the  gay  "  ta-ta  !" 
of  frivolous  people,  at  parting  with  the  sombre  trio,  but 
caught  herself  in  the  act  and  gravely  bowed  her  adieus. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

ONE  Mountain,  the  grand  and  solemn  ceme 
tery  of  San  Francisco,  was  dedicated  in  the 
years  agone  by  the  matchless  eloquence  of  Ba 
ker.  The  sea  never  rolls  its  anthem  from  the 
cliffs,  and  the  wind  never  sighs  among  the  funeral  trees, 
but  the  mournful  echoes  of  that  immortal  voice  return 
again,  still  singing  a  requiem  for  the  dead.  There  lies 
Broderick  in  the  gory  mantle  of  his  historic  quarrel; 
there  lies  Baker,  himself,  "  stricken  and  pale  from  the 
field  of  Sacrifice." 

The  cemetery  extends  over  a  series  of  sand-hills  and 
depressions,  which  affectionate  art  has  made  green  with 
shrubbery  and  bright  with  flowers.  The  fashionable 
Cliff  House  drive  skirts  its  silent  walls,  and  the  gay  me 
tropolitans  may  be  said  to  whisper  their  loves  and  in 
trigues  in  the  shadow  of  its  sacred  gates. 

In  an  obscure  quarter  of  this  cemetery,  on  the  day  fol 
lowing  the  interview  with  Madame  Joilet,  were  several 
people,  gathered  about  a  low,  sand-swept  grave.  The 
little  mound  might  have  been  heaped  but  yesterday,  or 
six  months,  or  six  years  before.  The  sands  measure 
time  —  they  do  not  bear  the  impress  of  its  power.  They 
arc  always  the  same  —  dry,  blank,  hoary ! 

Not  a  shrub  or  a  flower  marked  the  spot  —  only  plain 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  249 

white  b'oards  at   the  head   and  the  foot  —  the  former  of 
which  bore  in  black  letters  the  name  — 

ECHO   CLIFFORD. 

Under  the  direction  of  an  unctuous  man  in  black,  two 
laborers  began  to  dig  in  this  grave,  "while  several  gen 
tlemen —  apparently  much  interested  in  the  work  that 
was  going  forward  —  stood  apart.  The  vigorous  labor 
ers  threw  the  light  soil  up  with  startling  rapidity,  and 
their  spades  soon  struck  an  obstruction  below. 

One  of  the  men  got  into  the  opening  and  threw  up 
some  loose  boards.  Ropes  were  then  handed  him,  when 
the  other  gentlemen  stepped  forward,  and  some  of  them 
assisted  the  laborers  in  raising  a  long,  rough,  wooden 
box,  which,  to  all  appearances,  must  contain  the  remains 
of  a  human  being.  The  lid  of  the  wooden  box  was  then 
pried  up,  and  a  respectable  coffin,  draped  in  black  velvet, 
was  disclosed  within. 

It  was  then  noticed  that  a  terrible  odor  crept  into  the 
air,  and  there  was  a  general  movement  backward. 

"Putrefaction  must  be  far  advanced,"  said  Doctor 
Turner  to  Arthur  Hoberg,  who  stood  beside  him  with  a 
face  appalling  in  its  expression  of  grief  and  horror;  do 
you  desire"  — 

"  No,  no ! "  murmured  the  other,  bursting  into  sobs, 
"  It  is  too  terrible  not  to  be  true ! " 

The  undertaker  who  had  paused,  hammer  in  hand, 
hurriedly  replaced  the  lid,  and  the  remains  were  con 
veyed  to  9,  hearse  in  attendance  at  the  gate.  The  party 
of  gentJernen  entered  a  cab,  and  were  ju^t  turning  into 
the  road  in  the  rear  of  the  hearscj  when  p  jsdv  and 


250  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

tleman  drove  up  in  an  open  carriage,  their  faces  ex 
pressing  the  utmost  surprise  at  the  spectacle  of  a  funeral 
cortege  going  citywards.  The  gentleman  was  Cleave- 
land  Farrish,  and  the  lady  Echo  Clifford! 

Before  leaving  for  San  Rafael,  Echo  had  desired  to  pay 
a  last  visit  to  the  resting  place  of  the  child  she  had  learned 
to  love  so  well,  and  this  was  the  occasion  of  their  visit 
to  Lone  Mountain. 

Had  Arthur  Hoberg  only  looked  out  of  the  window 
as  the  others  drove  up,  ah,  heavens !  what  a  scene  there 
had  been !  But  his  head  was  buried  in  his  hands  and  his 
eyes  were  blinded  with  tears. 

Ainsley  began  to  breathe  more  freely,  but  the  cloud 
of  anxiety  had  not  entirely  cleared  from  his  brow.  It 
was  a  desperate  business,  he  felt,  and  he  was  almost  sorry 
that  he  had  undertaken  it.  "  By  Jove ! "  he  murmured, 
"  it  is  playing  with  death ! " 

But  the  job  was  done,  and  he  must  face  the  conse 
quences.  Vinton  had  acted  superbly.  "You  are  an 
ideal  mechanic,  Dan,"  said  Ainsley  to  him  when  the  fu 
neral  party  had  disbanded  at  the  undertaker's  on  Market 
street,  and  he  had  had  an  opportunity  of  finding  him  at 
the  old  rookery  on  Broadway.  "  How  did  you  manage 
it?" 

Dan  poured  himself  out  a  glass  of  liquor,  saying,  "  I'm 
an  ideal  orator,  too,  and  I  never  attempt  a  speech  with 
out  due  preparation."  Having  finished  his  libation  to 
the  shades  of  Demosthenes  and  Cicero,  the  orator  began  3 

<«  Well,  in  the  first  place,  I  c  fixed '  the  Kearny  street 
doctor  and  Madame  Joilet  —  that  was  a  bagatelle.  The, 
cemetery  job  was  the  real  sticking  point,  and  I  stru<*; 


WHAT   CAME   OF   IT.  251 

gled  with  it  a  long  time  unavailingly.  In  the  heat  of 
the  combat  I  happened  to  think  of  an  anecdote  told  upon 
John  Morrissey.  John  had  a  row  with  a  man  in  a  saloon, 
and  his  opponent  assaulted  him  just  as  he  was  in  the  act 
of  taking  off  his  coat.  Hampered  by  the  half-drawn 
garment,  he  was  knocked  down,  when  his  opponent  fell 
upon  him  and  began  raining  in  his  blows  with  awful  en 
ergy.  A  thought  occurred  to  John;  instead  of  trying 
to  pull  the  coat  off,  he  would  put  it  on.  He  did  so,  with 
a  single  movement  of  his  herculean  shoulders,  and  the 
other  man  was  carried  off  to  a  doctor  ten  minutes  af 
terward. 

"  The  recollection  of  that  anecdote  saved  me.  Instead 
of  trying  to  get  possession  of  an  established  grave,  I 
made  one.  Of  course,  I  had  to  take  our  undertaker  into 
my  confidence,  and  through  his  professional  assistance, 
the  whole  thing  was  exquisitely  managed. 

"  The  grave  was  prepared  yesterday  afternoon,  and  it 
was,  essentially,  tenantless." 

"  There  was  a  horrible  odor,"  said  Ainsley  with  a 
grimace. 

"  Drugs,"  said  Vinton,  sententiously. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

UNSET  on  the  Mediterranean.  The  sea  lay 
clasping  its  lovely  isles,  like  a  maiden  dreaming 
of  her  gems.  The  sun's  rays,  fused  in  a  soft, 
glowing  mass  of  matchless  color,  flowed  ovef 
the  whole  western  arch,  until  it  lifted  and  shone  like  the 
gateway  of  that  Heaven  we  cannot  see.  Peaks,  ridges, 
hills,  vales,  cities,  and  villas,  put  on  the  glory  of  the  pa 
geant,  and  were  lovelier  than  any  dream  of  Enchanted 
Lands  or  Happy  Isles.  Upon  the  mighty  picture  rested, 
too,  the  lights  and  shadows  of  ancient,  classic  and  medi 
aeval  time  —  the  solemn  and  tender  nimbus  of  the  his 
tory  of  man ;  for  in  those  shades  and  gleams  War  shook 
his  crimson  spear,  Love  displayed  her  hyacinthine  locks, 
and  Art  lifted  her  immortal  face. . 

Near  a  city  on  the  shore,  a  solitary  traveler  was  as 
cending  a  mountain  which,  environed  with  white-walled 
villas  at  its  base,  reared  its  rocky  cone  high  in  the  purple 
bloom  and  golden  mist  of  the  evening. 

Reaching  the  summit,  the  traveler  sat  down  on  the 
crumbling  fragment  of  an  ancient  ruin,  and  surveyed 
the  scene.  He  was,  apparently,  somewhat  past  middle 
life,  tall,  well-proportioned,  and  muscular.  His  dark 
hair  and  whiskers  were  tinged  with  gray.  His  bronzed 
face  was  regular,  yet  massive  in  outline,  his  eyebrows 
boldly  rnarked,  and  his  eyes  d^rk,  luminous,  splendid, 


WHAT   CAME    OF    IT.  253 

He  did  not  belong  to  the  race  inhabiting  the  city  be 
low  him.  He  was  of  the  stock  of  those  conquering  is 
landers  in  whose  veins  flows  the  mingled  strength  of 
Saxon,  Norman  and  Danish  blood.  For  long  years  he 
had  been  exiled  from  home  and  friends,  and  had  been 
a  wanderer  in  many  lands. 

He  had  gone  forth  in  the  hot  blood  of  youth  and  was 
yet  in  the  meridian  of  his  vigor,  but  his  wild  passions 
were  subdued,  and  his  thoughts  and  purposes  flowed  in 
a  deep  and  tranquil  current. 

The  truest,  sweetest,  most  enchanting  period  of  hu 
man  life  is  not  found  in  childhood  or  in  youth,  but  in  its 
tender  autumn  time,  when  the  first  frosts  have  fallen, 
and  dim,  ineffable  regrets  weave  a  misty  veil  over  the 
glowing  landscapes  of  the  heart.  It  is  the  turn  of  the 
leaf — the  dirge-haunted  Indian  summer  of  our  years. 
It  is  then  that  the  soul  takes  on  its  richest,  fullest  color 
ing.  The  sunshine  is  sadder,  but  dearer  to  vis,  then,  be 
cause  it  slants  across  the  fallen  castles  of  our  hopes  and 
the  grass-grown  mounds  that  cover  our  dead.  Perhaps 
it  is  then  that  the  exiled  spirit  thinks,  for  the  first  time, 
of  some  far,  forgotten  home,  and  thus  lies  lapped  in  rev 
eries  stranger  and  more  delightful  than  were  ever  wafted 
from  the  flowering  lotus. 

The  gad-fly  of  remorse  had  driven  this  solitary  man 
into  the  unknown  regions  of  the  earth,  and  as  he  sat 
there  musing  in  the  mellow  radiance  of  the  evening,  his 
old  life  at  home  seemed  to  be  connected  with  an  exist 
ence  in  some  other  world.  A  great  yearning  to  return 
began  to  grow  upon  him.  The  scenes  and  incidents  of 
the  old  time  began  to  revolve  before  him  in  living  dis- 


254  WHAT   CAME   OP   IT. 

tinctness,  and  he  wondered  how  he  could  have  remained 
away  so  long.  Faces  of  loved  ones  came  to  him  as 
never  before,  and  his  anguish  was  almost  insupportable. 
Why  should  he  not  return  ?  His  life  was  worse  than 
wasted  in  this  idle  journeying  from  land  to  land,  and  he 
might  find  among  those  who  were  near  and  dear  to  him 
a  life-purpose  and  a  hope.  All  other  considerations  per 
ished  and  passed  away  before  this  one  flaming  idea  and 
desire,  and  he  resolved  to  act.  So  must  the  Prodigal 
Son  have  felt,  when  he  said,  "  I  will  arise  and  go  to  my 
father's  house." 

There  was  a  grand  light  in  the  brown  face  of  our  trav 
eler  as  he  arose,  and  with  one  parting  glance  at  the  fad 
ing  splendors  of  the  sunset,  hastened  down  the  moun 
tain.  His  preparations  were  soon  made,  and  the  next 
day  he  was  pacing  the  deck  of  a  steamer  bound  for  Mar 
seilles.  His  journey  terminated  in  Paris.  Having  se 
cured  respectable  lodgings  in  a  quiet  neighborhood,  he 
employed  an  intelligent  and  active  young  man  as  mes 
senger  and  sent  him  immediately  with  a  sealed  note  to  an 
old  Captain  of  the  Guards  named  Ducrot,  whom  he  had 
formerly  known,  and  of  whose  present  residence  he  had 
taken  care  to  inform  himself  directly  on  his  arrival. 

During  the  absence  of  the  messenger,  the  traveler 
paced  the  floor  continually,  muttering  to  himself  and 
contracting  his  brows  as  if  in  serious  and  disturbing 
thought. 

After  the  lapse  of  an  hour  or  so,  a  carriage  drove  up 
in  front  of  his  temporary  quarters,  and  there  alighted 
therefrom  a  stalwart  man  of  about  fifty-five  —  habited 
in  the  undress  of  a  retired  officer.  His  hair  was  nearly 


WHAT   CAME   OF    IT.  255 

white,  but  strong  and  abundant,  and  his  leonine  visage 
was  not  subdued  in  ferocity  by  the  heavy  sabre-cut  that 
extended  across  the  right  cheek  obliquely,  from  the  point 
of  the  flowing  gray  mustache  nearly  to  the  temple. 

This  man  of  warlike  presence  mounted  the  steps  with 
a  firm  step,  and  was  admitted  by  the  traveler  himself, 
who  closed  the  door  and  faced  his  visitor  with  folded 
arms. 

The  two  men  regarded  each  other  for  a  moment  in 
perfect  silence,  and  then  the  Frenchman  opened  his  arms 
with  a  stentorian  shout, 

"  lo  triumphe!  It  is  Clifford,  my  friend  and  brother, 
come  back  from  the  dead ! " 

"  It  is  indeed  I,  Captain,  and  it  does  my  soul  good  to 
see  the  lion-hearted  Ducrot  erect  and  vigorous  with  un 
abated  youth."  And  these  two  men  embraced  like 
brothers. 

"  In  the  name  of  God,  Clifford,"  said  the  Captain, 
when  the  first  transports  of  surprise  were  over,  and  both 
were  seated,  "  to  what  ends  of  the  earth  have  you  been 
gone  so  many  years  ? " 

"  I  have  sojourned  in  many  climes,  Captain,  and  toiled 
in  many  since  last  I  saw  you,  but  I  assure  you  that  I  have 
never  ceased  to  remember  you  with  affection  and  grati 
tude,"  said  the  traveler,  still  clasping  the  hand  of  his 
friend. 

"  But  why  did  you  not  return  ?  Did  you  never  hear 
the  truth?" 

"  I  supposed  that  I  knew  the  truth,"  said  the  other 
mournfully.  "  I  have  had  no  new  light  since  going 
away." 


256  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

"  Ma  foi!  then,  my  friend,"  said  the  Captain,  ener 
getically  slapping  his  knee,  "  I  will  strike  you  with  a 
thunder-clap  of  revelation. 

Clifford  shook  his  head  as  though  he  were  hopeless  of 
any  new  phase  of  facts  in  the  case. 

"  In  the  first  place,  then,  my  Sinbad  the  Sailor,  what 
have  you  to  say  if  I  tell  you  that  the  man  did  not  die  ? " 

"Not  die?"  said  Clifford,  starting  angrily,  "that  is 
bad  news,  indeed." 

"  But  I  tell  you  that  is  good  news." 

"  You  seem  to  have  changed  your  opinion,  Captain," 
with  a  lowering  of  the  heavy  brows. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  why  it  is  good  news,  Monsieur  Sin- 
bad  ? "  persisted  the  man  of  war. 

"  I  am  most  anxious  to  know  why  my  friend,  Captain 
Ducrot,  the  soul  of  honor,  calls  the  intelligence  of  so 
great  a  misfortune,  good  news  ? " 

"  Simply  because  the  man  did  not  deserve  to  die ;  he 
was  innocent." 

"  Are  you  trifling  with  me,  my  noble  friend  ? v  said 
Clifford,  huskily. 

"  I  swear  by  the  grave  of  my  father,  that  the  man 
was  innocent!"  said  the  Captain,  solemnly. 

"  Innocent!    my  God!    that  would  imply  that  my  - 
that"  — 

"  That  your  wife  was  innocent  too,  my  poor  brother," 
said  the  Captain  yet  more  solemnly  and  tenderly. 

"After  all  these  years!"  groaned  Clifford,  as  he  laid 
his  head  upon  the  table,  convulsed  by  the  power  of  his 
emotions. 

A  plaintive   silence  of  several    minutes    ensued,  and 


WHAT   CAME   OF   IT.  257 

then  the  Captain  laid  his  strong  hand  softly  on  the  oth 
er's  shoulder,  and,  in  a  low  voice,  began: 

"  The  whole  truth  came  out  immediately,  my  friend, 
and  your  wife  was  utterly  exonerated  from  all  blame." 

Clifford  neither  looked  up  nor  spoke,  and  the  Captain 
continued, 

"The  man  you  struck  had  been  clandestinely  meeting 
a  young  lady,  a  friend  of  your  wife,  to  whom  he  was 
engaged  to  be  married,  in  your  house  —  and  thus  the 
whole  mistake  and  catastrophe  occurred." 

"  Oh  God!  how  I  have  wronged  her!"  cried  Clifford, 
agonizingly. 

"  And  how  you  must  have  suffered ! "  interposed  the 
Captain.  "  Come,  my  friend,"  he  resumed,  encourag 
ingly.  "  Your  action  was  justified  by  the  facts  as  they 
seemed  to  you.  If  you  made  a  mistake;  if  you  did 
wrong,  in  fact,  in  not  having  been  more  deliberate,  let 
all  these  years  of  miserable  exile  atone  for  that,  and  look 
you  only  to  the  present  and  the  future." 

Clifford  regained  his  composure  and  again  sat  erect. 

"Lady  Clifford  is  in  Paris?"  he  finally  asked. 

"  Yes,  having  recovered  her  daughter,  she  has*re-en- 
tered  society." 

"Recovered  her  daughter?"  said  Clifford,  starting  up 
excitedly. 

"  That  and  nothing  less,  monsieur,"  said  the  Captain, 
rather  enjoying  the  dramatic  esprit  of  the  situation. 

"  When,  and  how  was  she  recovered  ? " 

"  An  agent  sent  out  by  Lady  Clifford  discovered  mad 
emoiselle  in  America,  whither  it  is  claimed  you  had 


258  WHAT'  CAME  OF  it. 

taken  her  at  the  time  of  your  flight,  and  brought  her  to 
Paris  but  a  few  months  ago,  I  believe." 

"You  will  see  them,  of  course?"  continued  the 
Captain. 

"  Yes ;  I  can  do  no  less.  The  yearning  of  a  husband 
and  father  finally  overcame  my  pride,  my  fears,  and  ev 
ery  conventional  scruple,  and  I  have  returned.  God 
only  knows  what  reception  is  in  store  for  me,  but  my 
purpose  is  clear  and  true,  and  I  shall  not  abandon  it. 
The  revelation  you  have  made  gives  me  much  cause  to 
hope  that  the  golden  bow  of  promise  may  yet  span  my 
darkened  sky.  Whatever  the  mother  may  do,  the  child 
will  surely  not  desert  me." 

"  Bravo,  Sinbad,  your  life  shall  yet  blossom  with  re 
turning  joys.  Your  wife  may  have  been  incensed  at  you 
for  having  so  readily  believed  evil  of  her,  but  she  has 
borne  herself  discreetly  in  her  worse  than  widowhood, 
and  must  be  one  of  the  noblest  of  women.  I  am  confi 
dent  that  she  will  forgive  all  in  memory  of  your  terrible 
sufferings,  and  that  your  hearts  will  flow  together  again 
in  peace,  trust,  and  love." 

"God  grant  it!"  exclaimed  Clifford,  devoutly. 

The  two  friends  then  adjourned  to  a  neighboring  cafe, 
where  they  lingered  long  over  their  wine,  brightening1 
the  links  of  their  ancient  friendship* 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

HE  footsteps  of  Zarina,  passing  to  the  privacy 
of  her  own  chamber,  and  the  innocent  com 
panionship  of  her  individual  thoughts,  had 
scarcely  died  away  along  the  carpeted  hall, 
when  an  unaccountable  spasm,  deadly  in  its  violence, 
seized  the  person  of  M.  Legrand.  He  threw  himself 
over  on  his  spine,  and,  doubling  his  knees  back  almost 
to  his  chin,  suddenly  shot  his  legs  forward  with  the  ve 
locity  of  a  thunderbolt,  hurling  the  entire  drapery  of  the 
bed  to  the  other  side  of  the  room.  Then  he  kicked  and 
clawed  the  air,  and  spat  into  it,  with  a  fury  that  was 
fearful  to  behold. 

Finally,  when  he  had  exhausted  himself  by  a  series  of 
the  wildest  and  most  grotesque  movements  imaginable, 
he  quietly  arose  and  secured  his  door  against  all  possible 
intrusion.  His  sallow  face  was  illumined  by  a  strange 
white  light,  and  his  eyes  glowed  with  the  smothered 
flame  of  some  mighty  purpose.  Going  to  his  dressing- 
case,  he  opened  a  drawer  and  took  therefrom  a  glittering, 
pearl-handled  knife,  of  the  kind  gentlemen  usually  carry 
in  their  pockets.  What  was  he  going  to  do  ?  His  fell 
purpose  was  soon  apparent. 

He  sat  down  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  coolly  began 
to  pare  his  finger-nails,  some  of  which  had  been  torn  in; 


260  WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

the  muscular  carnival  through  which  he  had  just 
passed. 

"  Pardieu,  madame  !"  he  said,  in  a  malevolent  whis 
per;  "it  is  a  long  road  that  has  no  turning.  You  were 
like  this,"  and  he  held  up  the  bright  blade,  "  keen,  cold, 
cruel,  beautiful,  but  I  was  warned  in  time,  and  I  come 
back  from  the  borders  of  the  grave  to  overthrow  and 
destroy  you." 

Yes,  he  had  been  warned  in  time,  and  you  could  see  in 
every  ghastly  feature  of  the  man  as  he  sat  there  attend 
ing  to  a  trivial  necessity,  that  he  had  been  into  the 
shadows  of  the  sombre  land. 

Jealousy,  the  green-eyed,  the  Argus-eyed,  had  saved 
him.  He  had  tracked  Zarina  and  the  count  to  their 
trysting  bower,  and  had  been  a  hidden  witness  of  the 
anomalous  marriage. 

Restraining  the  tigerish  impulse  to  spring  upon  and 
destroy  them  both,  he  had  ceased  to  use  the  medicaments 
left  for  him  by  his  physician,  rightly  suspecting  that  his 
rapidly  failing  health  had  not  been  without  a  definite  and 
criminal  cause. 

He  had  affected  the  mortal  agony  of  that  night  in 
order  to  further  entangle  and  confuse  his  paramour,  and 
lead  her  to  the  hideous  unmasking  of  her  satanic  de 
sign. 

"  Ha,  ha  !"  he  chuckled,  softly,  as  he  smoothed  his 
hungry-looking  talons  ;  "the  man  that  loves  is  a  fool, 
and  doubly  a  fool  is  he  that  loves  his  wife." 

Having  shuffled  off  his  infatuation  for  his  covert  spouse, 
Legrand  gave  back  his  allegiance  to  the  sordid  interests 


WHAT   CAME    OF    IT.  261 

that  had  ruled   his  life    before   he   entered  the  lists  of 
love.     • 

His  course  was  chosen  with  the  inspired  promptitude 
of  a  Napoleon.  Rehabilitating  his  disordered  couch,  and 
binding  a  damp  towel  about  his  temples,  he  went  to 
bed,  and  slept  soundly  until  a  seasonable  hour  in  the 
morning. 

Arising  briskly,  he  began  an  elaborate  toilet,  suspend 
ing  his  labors  occasionally  to  take  a  glass  of  wine.  When 
he  had  finished  he  was  a  marvel  of  artistic  groom 
ing,  and  the  wine  had  lent  a  slight  flush  to  his  pale  cheek 
and  an  animated  sparkle  to  his  eye. 

As  he  sauntered  gracefully  into  the  breakfast  parlor, 
it  might  have  been  thought  that  he  was  the  owner  of  the 
mansion — young,  rich,  happy,  and  honored — instead  of 
the  villainous  adventurer  that  he  was,  treading  close  to 
the  gulf  of  an  awful  ruin. 

"The  compliments  of  the  morning,  ladies,"  he  ex 
claimed,  with  gay  suavity.  "  May  I  venture  to  express 
the  hope  that  both  of  you  are  well  ?" 

Lady  Clifford  acknowledged  his  salutation  quietly, 
and  moved  towards  her  place  at  the  table. 

Zarina,  who  had  been  scanning  the  columns  of  the 
morning  paper  and  teasing  a  white  lap-dog  at  her  feet, 
looked  up  suddenly,  turned  livid,  gasped,  and  only  saved 
herself  from  falling  by  clutching  the  arm  of  her  chair 
with  despairing  energy. 

Luckily  Lady  Clifford  did  not  notice  her  supreme 
agitation,  and  Legrand  had  a  motive  for  not  calling  at 
tention  to  it. 

Zarina  was  a  woman  of  masculine  nerve,  however,  and 


262  WHAT  CAME   OF   IT. 

she  soon  gained  control  of  her  feelings,  whatever  they 
may  have  been,  and  addressed  some  commonplace  re 
mark  to  Legrand,  which  he  answered  in  kind. 

As  the  meal  progressed,  Legrand's  conversational 
qualities  shone  out  as  never  before.  He  was  more  pro 
found  than  Johnson,  more  brilliant  and  poetical  than 
Coleridge,  and  more  witty  and  piquant  than  Madame 
de  Stael.  He  was  absolutely  oppressive  in  the  glare, 
flash,  roar,  and  ripple  of  his  talk,  which  soon  assumed 
the  character  of  a  towering  and  despotic  monologue,  the 
ladies  having  been  altogether  silenced  in  its  desolating 
course. 

The  repast  concluded,  Legrand  turned  to  Lady  Clif 
ford  : 

u  May  I  have  the  honor  of  a  private  interview  with 
your  ladyship  this  morning,  on  a  matter  of  the  highest 
moment  ?" 

His  tones  were  clear  and  distinct,  so  much  so  that 
Zarina  recoiled  from  their  peculiar  emphasis  as  if  it  bore 
a  poignard  thrust  of  intimation  to  her  very  heart. 

"  Certainly,  monsieur,"  said  Lady  Clifford,  rising  and 
leading  the  way.  "  Let  us  adjourn  to  the  library." 

Fully  an  hour  passed,  and  still  Zarina  sat  in  the  dining- 
room  waiting  the  event  of  the  interview,  for  she  felt  sure 
that  a  crisis  of  some  kind  was  at  hand. 

At  last  Legrand  came  out  of  the  sitting-room  and 
Went  up  stairs,  no  movement  being  observed  in  the 
apartment  he  had  left.  Half  an  hour  passed,  and  then  he 
came  down  again,  arrayed  in  his  traveling-dress,  and  car 
rying  a  small  portmanteau* 


WHAT   CAME   OF    IT.  263 

Entering  the  dining-room,  he  went  straight  to  Zariria 
and  held  out  his  gloved  hand. 

"  Zarina,"  he  said,  in  almost  tender  tones,  as  she  me 
chanically  put  her  hand  in  his,  "  do  you  remember  the 
cry  of  the  Old  Guard,  when,  for  the  first  time  in  history, 
they  recoiled  at  Waterloo  ?" 

Her  lips  were  white,  and  she  moved  them  once  or 
twice  vainly  before  she  could  articulate  : 

"  I  do  not  know,  monsieur." 

"  Sauve  qui  peut  /"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  bending 
and  kissing  the  hand  he  held,  then  turned,  passed  through 
the  door  without  once  looking  back,  and  was  gone— 
forever  ! 

A  traitor  to  every  principle  of  truth,  he  had  sold  his 
own  villainy.  He  had  been  gone  but  a  moment  when 
the  door-bell  rang,  and  a  visitor  was  announced.  Going 
into  the  hall,  Zarina  heard  Lady  Clifford,  in  strange, 
broken  voice,  tell  the  servant  to  show  the  gentle 
man  in. 

She  advanced  so  as  to  command  a  view  of  the  room, 
and  saw  a  tall,  bronzed  man  halt  for  a  moment  on  the 
threshold  and  look  towards  Lady  Clifford,  who  rose  with 
difficulty  from  the  sofa  upon  which  she  had  been  sitting, 
and  returned  his  gaze. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken,  but  in  an  instant  the  flash  of 
a  divine  lustre,  the  reflection  of  an  awakened  love,  swept 
their  faces,  and  they  rushed  into  each  other's  arms  with 
simultaneous  cries  : 

"Husband!" 

"Wife  I" 


264 


WHAT   CAME    OF    IT. 


And  then  Zarina  remembered  the  forlorn  cry  of  the 
Old  Guard  at  Waterloo — 
"  Sarnie  qui  peut  /" 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

'ORNING  on  the  Summit  of  the  Sierras!  The 
eastward  bound  train  of  the  Central  Pacific 
railroad  was  just  rounding  one  of  those  appall 
ing  curves  which,  in  that  sublime  and  gorgeous 
region  skirt  the  brink  of  immeasureable  abysses,  when, 
suddenly,  its  motion  was  observed  to  diminish  —  then, 
cease  altogether. 

The  train  had  stopped. 

After  a  brief  delay  the  door  of  the  express  car  was 
seen  to  open,  and  a  plank  was  pushed  out  until  its 
extremity  rested  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  grade. 

Then  a  large  body,  glittering  like  an  immense  silver 
brick  in  the  sunlight,  was  placed  upon  the  plank.  It  ap 
peared,  on  closer  scrutiny,  to  be  an  oblong,  irregular 
hexagon — that  figure  which,  from  association,  has  be 
come  so  terrible  to  the  human  race.  The  incline  was 
steep,  and  when  all  was  ready,  a  brakesman  stepped 
forward,  and  with  a  single  impulse  of  his  hand,  shot  this 
mysterious  body  like  a  meteor  into  the  abyss. 

The  train  moved  on. 

To  understand  this  curious  proceeding,  we  will  have 
to  retrace  our  steps  a  little  way  into  the  events  that 
preceded  it. 

Reconsidering  her  first  decision,  Echo  concluded  to 
revisit  her  old  home,  in  company  with  her  cousin.  Aunt 


266  WHAT    CAME    OP    IT. 

Newbury  was  provided  with  a  comfortable  home,  mean 
while,  where  she  was  to  await  Echo's  return  from  Canada 
— when  both  were  to  proceed  to  San  Rafael,  according 
to  the  original  intention. 

Doctor  Arthur  Hoberg,  having  had  the  supposed  re 
mains  of  his  affianced  enclosed  in  an  additional  metallic 
casket,  took  passage  in  the  same  train  with  our  friends, 
as  the  Fates  would  have  it,  and  there  was,  every  moment, 
therefore,  imminent  danger  of  a  collision. 

By  the  greatest  good  fortune,  Echo,  in  glancing  out 
of  the  car  window  at  Sacramento,  was  the  first  to  realize 
the  situation,  having  seen  Arthur  plainly,  as  he  stood 
facing  her  and  conversing  with  some  gentleman  for  a 
moment  before  he  got  on  the  train. 

She  was  astounded,  of  course,  and  gave  a  little  scream, 
which  she  could  only  explain  to  her  cousin  by  attribu 
ting  it  to  the  true  cause.  This  she  did,  in  an  agitated 
whisper,  pointing  out  Arthur  to  her  cousin.  Farrish 
was  no  less  surprised. 

"  Why,  he  must  have  been  searching  for  you,"  he  said. 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Echo  naively,  blushing  painfully, 
however,  the  moment  she  realized  the  masculine  audac 
ity  of  the  remark. 

"Noble  looking  fellow,  too,"  said  Farrish,  musingly; 
then,  with  a  sudden  transition  to  activity  — 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  propose  to  de>?" 

"  Certainly  not,  cousin ;  nothing  rash,  I  hope." 

"  Well,  our  Adonis  there  is  smoking,  as  you  see,  and 
will  probably  go  into  the  smoking-car.  When  the  train 
gets  in  motion,  therefore,  I  shall  call  upon  him  and  find 
out  the  true  history  of  the  whole  affair.  It 's  providen- 


WHAT   CAME    OF    IT.  267 

tial  that  he  is  a  passenger  on  the  same  train,  for  I  intend 
to  throw  him  over  the  precipices  of  the  Sierras  unless 
he  shall  show  the  true  color." 

"Oh,  but  —  cousin" — ?"  faltered  Echo,  whose  wo 
manly  sensibilities  began  to  be  aroused  as  she  thought 
of  the  letters  she  had  received. 

"Never  mind,  my  dear;  I  shall  act  considerately,  and 
your  situation  shall  not  be  compromised  in  the  least.  I 
know  that  there  is  villainy  at  the  bottom  of  your  es 
trangement,  and  the  sooner  an  understanding  is  had,  the 
better  for  all  concerned." 

When  the  heavy  train,  with  many  a  groan  and  splut 
ter,  had  finally  begun  to  move,  Farrish  was  as  good  as 
his  word,  and  bidding  Echo,  who  by  this  time  was  dis 
tressingly  agitated,  to  be  of  good  cheer,  departed  in 
quest  of  Arthur. 

As  he  had  expected,  the  Doctor  was  in  the  smoking 
car,  and  he  approached  him  directly  — 

"  Haven't  I  the  pleasure  of  addressing  Doctor  Arthur 
Hoberg,  of  Quebec?"  he  politely  asked. 

Arthur  started  at  the  sound  of  his  own  name,  and  rose 
as  he  answered, 

" The  same,  sir,  and  I"  — 

"Mr.  Farrish" — taking  a  seat  at  his  side. 

"Learning,  accidentally,  who  you  were,"  continued 
Farrish,  "  I  made  bold  to  approach  you.  I  am  a  rela 
tive  of  an  old  neighbor  of  yours,  now  deceased,  Mrs. 
Clifford,  and  now  on  my  way  to  Canada  to  look  up 
some  matters  of  family  history." 

"  I  am  inexpressibly  glad  to  meet  you,"  said  Arthur, 
brightening  electrically  at  the  name  of  "  Cliftord."  Then 


268  WHAT   CAME    OF    IT. 

he  thought  of  his  mournful  charge  in  the  express  car, 
and  the  sunshine  fell  away  from  his  face  like  the  white 
mask  of  Khorrassan,  leaving  his  features  dark  with  un 
utterable  gloom. 

"  If  your  mission  to  Canada  pertains  to  the  affairs  of 
that  unfortunate  family,"  said  Arthur,  chokingly,  "  I 
have  most  sorrowful  intelligence  for  you.  I  suppose 
that  you  are  acquainted  with  the  various  branches  of  the 
family?" 

Finish  inclined  his  head,  adding,  "lam  the  name 
sake  of  Cleaveland  Clifford,  the  deceased  widow's  only 
son." 

"  Indeed !  Then  you  doubtless  have  heard  that  he  left 
an  only  daughter,  who  was  reared  by  her  grandmother?" 

Farrish  nodded  his  assent. 

"  Well,"  said  Arthur,  drawing  a  long  breath  and 
trembling  visibly,  "  Echo  Clifford  was  the  loveliest  and 
purest  of  her  sex.  After  the  death  of  her  grandmother 
she  came  to  live  in  my  father's  family  for  a  time,  and  we 
became  greatly  attached  to  each  other,  Echo  and  I,  and 
were  engaged  to  be  married."  The  young  man  almost 
broke  down  at  this  juncture,  but  made  a  desperate  effort 
at  self-command,  and  continued : 

"  Echo  at  length  engaged  herself  as  companion  to  a 
wealthy  lady  named  Ainsley,  a  resident  of  Quebec. 
Having  passed  the  medical  schools  I  also  established 
myself  in  Quebec  and  auspiciously  began  the  practice  of 
my  profession.  We  were  frequently  in  each  other's  so 
ciety  in  those  golden  days,  and  the  time  of  our  nup 
tials  was  near  at  hand,  when  an  event  occurred  which 
postponed  that  happy  day  forever," 


WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  269 

Arthur  passed  his  hand  across  his  brow  and  had  again 
to  struggle  for  self-control." 

"  The  event  to  which  I  allude,"  he  began  again,  "  was 
the  burning  of  the  Ainsley  mansion,  in  which  Echo  and 
Mrs.  Ainsley  very  nearly  lost  their  lives.  Mrs.  Ains- 
ley's  health  was  prostrated  by  the  nervous  shock  she 
received,  and  her  physicians  advised  travel  and  change 
of  scene.  Echo  had  become  indispensable  to  her  com 
fort  and  happiness  by  this  time,  and  she  refused  to  travel 
without  her.  This  was  a  cruel  whim,  so  far  as  its  bear 
ing  upon  our  fortunes  was  concerned,  for  Echo  could  not 
find  it  in  her  heart  to  desert  the  pampered  invalid,  and 
it  was  arranged  that  she  should  go.  California  was 
chosen  as  the  place  of  their  temporary  sojourn,  and 
Echo  and  I,  at  first,  maintained  a  constant  and  affection 
ate  correspondence;  but  a  cloud  soon  came  between  us, 
and  I  saw  plainly  that  her  love  had  grown  cold.  To 
be  brief,  she  finally,  in  a  constrained,  unnatural  way, 
wrote  asking  a  release  from  the  engagement,  and  I 
could  do  nothing  less  than  consent.  Then  we  heard 
nothing  more  of  them  until  Mrs,  Ainsley's  return,  a 
short  time  ago,  with  the  terrible  intelligence  of  Echo's 
death,  by  fever,  in  San  Francisco." 

Arthur  bowed  his  head  for  a  moment  and  die]  not  see 
the  wonderful  expression  that  passed  over  the  face  of 
his  auditor. 

"  The  blow  almost  deprived  me  of  reason,  but  I  sus= 
pected  them  of  having  neglected  the  poor  girl,  and  I 
almost  forced  Edmond  Ainsley  to  accompany  me  to  San 
Francisco,  where  I  intended  to  have  her  remains  ex- 
Juimed  and  brought  home  for  burial,  That  &ad  duty  I 


270  WHAT   CAME   OF   IT. 

have  performed,  and  I  am  now  returning  with  all  that 
is  left  of  my  lost,  lost  love ! "  Arthur's  head  fell  for 
ward  again,  and  a  heart-rending  moan  issued  from  his 
lips. 

Farrish  was  in  a  blaze  and  quiver  of  excitement. 

"Young  man  —  Doctor  Hoberg!"  he  said,  laying  his 
hand  firmly  on  Arthur's  shoulder, 

"  Look  at  me,  look  me  in  the  eye ! " 

Arthur  lifted  his  pale  face  and  looked  at  him  in  stupid 
wonderment. 

"  Now  tell  me,"  said  Farrish,  in  a  measured,  solemn 
voice, 

"  Are  you  in  your  right  mind  ? " 

"  I  have  no  reason  to  doubt  it,  Mr.  Farrish,"  said  Ar 
thur,  suspecting  the  other,  in  his  turn  of  mental  aber 
ration. 

"Well,  then,"  cried  Farrish,  bringing  his  clenched 
hand  down  on  the  back  of  the  seat  with  a  force  that 
almost  tore  it  from  its  fastenings, 

"You  are  the  victim  of  the  most  stupendous  fraud 
that  has  been  perpetrated  in  this  century ! " 

Arthur  could  only  gaze  at  him  in  stupid  astonishment. 

"Brace  your  nerves,"  resumed  Farrish,  "for  a  marvel 
ous  revulsion  of  feeling."  "  Can  you  not  guess  what  it 
is?" 

"  No,  I  cannot,  unless  it  be  that  -*- " 

"Echo  is  alive!"  said  Farrish,  finishing  the  sentence^ 
and  catching  Arthur's  head  upon  his  arm,  as  he  fell 
forward  in  a  swoon, 


WHAT   CAME   OF   IT.  2>]l 

Autumn  had  come.  The  northern  forests  were  aflame 
with  the  inverted  torch  of  the  passing  year.  The  rail 
road  journey  had  been  joyously  concluded,  and  a  long 
ocean  voyage  had,  soon  after,  closed  with  marvelous 
revelations  and  the  celestial  harmonies  of  happy  souls. 

The  night  was  crisp  and  clear,  and  the  old  parsonage 
was  aglow  with  festival  lights.  Lady  Clifford  was  there, 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  bronzed  traveler.  Arthur 
Hoberg  was  there,  happy  as  a  prince,  and  Echo,  blushing 
at  the  consciousness  of  her  own  loveliness.  Aunt  New- 
bury  was  there,  too,  and  Farrish,  and  Mary,  and  others 
that  we  need  not  name. 

The  venerable  pastor  had  at  last  been  allowed  to  be 
stow  the  mysterious  casket  upon  her  for  whom  it  was 
intended,  and  every  cloud  that  had  obscured  the  earlier 
fortunes  of  our  heroine  had  passed  away. 

Let  the  mantle  of  oblivion  rest  upon  the  fates  of  those 
who  bore  a  sinister  part  in  the  story.  Be  assured  that 
their  shadows  never  again  fell  across  the  pathways  of 
our  nobler  characters. 

Reader,  let  us  part  kindly.  We  have  invited  you 
upon  a  rugged  and,  perhaps,  an  unprofitable  way,  but 
the  end  is  here.  It  is  a  rude  tale,  inaptly  told,  but  under 
its  tattered  gabardine  beats  the  warm  heart  of  a  Chris 
tian  purpose.  And  so,  closing,  as  all  good  stories  must 
close,  with  the  music  of  marriage  b^Js?  let  us  borrow 
the  toa§t  of  Tiny  Tim,  and  say: 

•'God  bless  us  every  one.'^ 


fJIIFS  AMD  T 

& 


WRECKED. 

*° 

T  is  a  fearful  thing  to  contemplate  a  shipwreck; 

to  see  the  masts  dismantled,  the  helm   useless 

the  rudder  gone,  the  noble  vessel  at  the  mercy 

of  every  fierce  billow,  to  be  dashed  to  pieces 

on  the  rocks  and  the  ruins  stranded  upon  the  shore. 

But  how  much  more  fearful  to  contemplate  a  life 
wreck  !  What  are  the  iron-bound  masts  and  machinery 
of  ten  thousand  vessels,  were  they  built  of  gold,  ribbed 
with  rubies  and  freighted  with  diamonds,  compared  with 
the  mind  which  conceived  them  !  A  few  dollars  will 
rebuild  the  useful  vessel.  But  where  is  the  cunning 
skill  that  can  again  restore  the  strength  of  body,  the 
peace  of  mind,  the  squandered  opportunities  of  the 
wrecked  human  life  ?  Where  is  there  a  more  pitiful  ob 
ject  than  a  poor,  silly  creature,  clothed  in  the  habiliments 
of  a  man  or  woman,  who  has  never  learned  to  say  no 
with  emphasis  —  one  who  is  tossed  about  on  life's  tem 
pestuous  sea  as  the  leaves  of  the  forest  in  the  autumn 
gale  ? 

Can  we  not  emulate  the  beautiful  example  of  those 
self-denying  Sisters  of  Charity,  as  they  go  scattering 
seeds  of  benevolence  more  precious  to  the  heart  of  the 
life-wreck  than  a  drink  of  ice  water  to  the  parched 
fhroat  of  a  dying  soldier!  It  is  all  very  well  for  those 


2^  WKKCKED. 

who  are  living  in  opulence,  well  fed  and  richly  clad,  to 
go  to  the  hungry  and  cold,  talk  of  reform,  and  remind 
them  of  their  sinful  state.  Words  are  many,  but  do  they 
feed  the  hungry?  Prayer  is  a  blessed  privilege,  but 
does  it  clothe  the  naked  ?  The  gift  of  a  Bible  is  a  pre 
cious  gift,  but  will  it  shelter  the  homeless  ?  The  sound 
of  music  is  delightful,  but  what  would  av.ail  the  most 
ravishing  strains  that  ever  flowed  from  the  famous  harp 
of  Orpheus,,  to  one  when  gaunt,  meager  want  was 
fiercely  gnawing  at  his  vitals.  Prayer  without  work 
is  like  a  farmer  who  has  sown  seed  but  neglected  the 
harvest. 

When  a  vessel  is  wrecked  there  is  a  great  "  hue  and 
cry,"  but  when  a  precious  human  soul  and  a  beautiful 
human  body  is  wrecked,  physically,  mentally  and  mor 
ally,  perhaps  a  few  will  say,  "  Poor  wretch!  Such  a 
wreck !  Why  I  knew  him  when  he  was  a  promising 
young  man!"  and  then  dismiss  the  subject. 

One  cannot  go  anywhere  without  meeting  these  un 
timely  wrecks;  in  the  cars,  in  the  street  cars,  on  board  a 
ship,  wralking  upon  the  streets,  you  behold  these  wrecks. 
Wrecked  in  health,  wealth,  strength  and  manhood — • 
purity,  veracity  and  integrity,  all  gone,  only  a  misspent 
life  remaining.  Oh,  how  we  pity  the  wives,  mothers  and 
daughters  of  those  wrecks  of  manhood  who,  with  smiles 
upon  their  faces  are  outwardly,  patiently  and  silently  sub 
mitting  to  the  inexorable!  But  a  glimpse  at  the  ineffable 
misery  of  the  inner  life  would  startle  and  terrify  the  be 
holder.  We  all  live  two  lives:  our  external  life  is  cold, 
plain,  practical  and  selfish;  our  internal  life  is  full  of 


\\UKCKKD.  27? 

high  aspirations  and  great  expectations,  which  are  rarely 
realized. 

And  it  is  when  our  anticipations  are  blasted,  our  hopes 
deferred,  our  motives  and  actions  misunderstood,  our 
body  tired  and  our  minds  weary  with  labor,  the  tempter 
entices  us,  alluring  us  on  and  on,  and  we  lack  the  phy 
sical  and  ethical  capacity  to  successfully  cope  with  so 
skillful  an  adversary.  Then  it  is  we  need  Christian 
succor,  divine  judgment,  and  the  divine  aid.  Then  it 
is  when  we  are  decoyed,  life-wrecked.  Oh  !  Christian 
man  and  woman,  that  you  should  come  forward  and  not 
stand  far  off  with  pretended  sanctimoniousness,  "  thank 
ing  your  stars"  that  you  are  so  much  better  than  the  rest 
of  humanity!  What  do  you  know  of  the  past  life  or  of 
the  terrible  temptations  of  the  one  under  present  public 
condemnation. 

Ah,  my  friends,  suppose  the  mask  could  be  lifted  from 
all  our  hearts  and  our  most  secret  thoughts  exposed  to 
the  public  gaze,  would  we  not  all  make  swiftly  to  some 
dark  closet.  Suppose  the  mask  would  drop  from  every 
professed  Christian  in  any  assembly,  and  all  their  sins  of 
omission  and  of  commission  would  be  written  upon 
their  forehead,  just  imagine  the  scattering !  There  would 
be  none  left;  no,  not  one.  You  should  go  to  the  poor 
despondent  and  despairing  sinful  ones  of  earth,  for  they, 
in  their  debasement,  are  afraid  and  ashamed  to  come  to 
you. 

Yes,  go  to  them.  You  are  not  dead  yet,  neither  are 
your  children.  The  Omnipotent  only  knows  the  future, 
and  that  life-wrecked  man  and  woman  was  once  as  in- 


2y  WRECKED. 

nocent  as  that  pure  little  rosebud  which  you  so  lovingly 
rock  to  sleep  upon  your  bosom. 

Why  need  it  wither!  Why  must  the  virulent  canker 
of  disease  and  sin,  of  mistrust  and  selfishness,  enter  into 
the  inner  portals  of  the  exquisite  bud,  destroying  its  fra 
grance  and  beauty,  even  before  it  is  matured  into  full 

bloom  ! 

A  good  gardener  is  exceedingly  careful  of  a  choice 
rose-bush,  shields  it  from  the  fiery  rays  of  the  summer 
sun,  waters,  prunes  and  guards  it  from  the  rough  hands 
of  the  ignorant  and  the  rude  attack  of  the  destructive 
insect.  How  patiently  he  waits  for  the  first  tiny  leaves! 
How  he  rejoices  alike  at  the  fragrance  of  the  chased 
bud,  and  the  exquisitely  rare  beauty  of  the  full  blown 
rose. 

How  many  of  us  tend  our  precious  human  rose-bushes 
as  carefully  as  the  hired  gardener  does  the  natural! 

Do  we  mothers  do  our  duty,  our  whole  duty,  to  the 
frail,  tender,  impressible  little  plants  which  are  entrusted 
to  our  keeping  ?  Do  we  make  our  bosoms  the  port  for 
all  their  little  joys  or  sorrows,  and  our  strong  mother- 
love  the  trestle  work  upon  which  the  tender  plants  can, 
and  do,  climb  upward  ?  Do  we  attend  as  carefully  to 
the  ethical  needs  of  our  children  as  the  physical  ?  Do 
we  kindly  and  patiently  prune  the  faults  from  our  own 
daily  lives  and  conversation  so  as  to  shield  the  little  blos 
soms  from  the  taint  and  mildew  of  selfishness  and 
scandal  ?  Do  we  shelter  the  frail  plants  from  the  storm 
of  untruthful,  windy  words,  and  guard  it  from  rude, 
vicious  companionship  ?  Do  we  watch  the  coming 


WRECKED.  279 

bloom  of  our  precious  plants  with  jealous  care,  making 
home  the  real  "Utopian  Isle"  of  perfect  felicity  ? 

If  we  have  not  done  all  this,  and  more,  we  are  not 
worthy  the  excellent  diadem  of  motherhood,  and  we 
fear  the  gate-keeper  at  the  "golden  gates"  of  the  Eter 
nal  city,  will  turn  away  with  a  sigh  as  he  refuses  us 
admittance. 

We  sincerely  hope  that  futurity  will  clearly  see 
the  fallaciousness  of  the  judgment  which  upholds  the 
human  law  in  guarding  and  protecting  the  rose-bush  in 
one's  yard,  making  it  a  fine  or  imprisonment  to  the 
"  maliciously  disposed  person  or  persons  who  would  or 
should  impair  or  destroy  the  said  bush,"  and  permit 
the  same  person  or  persons,  if  so  disposed,  to  enter  the 
"  Sanctum  Sanctorum "  of  home  and  destroy  our  most 
promising  human  flowers. 

Fie,  fie !  upon  the  latv  which  permits  the  desolation  and 
desecration  of  a  home,  be  it  the  rich  man's  palace  or  the 
lowly  hovel  of  those  sorely  tried  people,  the  miserably 
poor. 

Wre  are  told  by  an  eminent  historian,  that  "  Cicero 
vindicated  the  truth  and  inculcated  the  value  of  the  pre 
cept  that  '  nothing  is  truly  useful  which  is  not  strictly 
honest.' " 

Can  a  man  be  strictly  honest  and  wantonly  injure 
another  ?  Webster  gives  the  definition  of  the  word 
honesty,  to  be  "  upright,  just,  fair  in  dealing  with  others ; 
having  the  disposition  to  act  at  all  times  according  to 
justice  or  correct  moral  principles." 

Now  in  God's  name,  in  the  name  of  truth  and  justice 
are  you  and  you  acting  fairly,  justly  and  honestly  to 


others  when  you  uphold  and  elect  men  to  office  who 
will  not,  or  do  not,  pass  laws  for  the  good  of  their  con 
stituents  ? 

'Tis   a  fearful   thing   to   contemplate   a  shipwreck   in 
imagination;  you  can  feel   the  shivering  of  the  ship  as 
she  dashes  and  plunges  along.      Will  she  outride  the 
storm  ?     The  captain  is  an  old  sea-king,  wrise  and  sober, 
the  man  at  the   helm   is  strong  and  brave,  not  a  rotten 
plank,  not  a  weak  place,  her  ropes  and  sails  are  new  and 
good,  her  masts   are  iron  bound,  her  sides  ribbed  with 
steel,  her  keel  strongly  bolted.     Surely  she  will  outride 
the  storm,  and  arrive  safely  in  port.     Hark  !  what  is  that  ? 
Look  again.     Her  sails  are  torn  into  shreds,  her  masts 
shivered   into   splinters,    her    helm    useless,    her    rudder 
gone.     Her  gallant  captain   stands  firmly  at  his  post  of 
duty,  and  gives  orders  in  a  sonorous  voice  which  trembles 
a  little  in  spite  of  himself,  for  on  board  that  vessel  is  a 
much-loved  and  only  daughter  upon  her   bridal    tour. 
The  boats  are  lowered,  but  what  boat  could  live  in  such 
a  violent  gale  ?     Hear  the  booming  of  the   signal   gnu. 
See  the  cowering  forms,  and  white,  pitiable  faces.     Listen 
to  the  prayers  uttered  by  shaking  voices  and  trembling 
lips,  as  visions  of  the  safe  home-harbor  come  galloping 
Swiftly  through  the  frenzied  brain.     The  monarch  of  the 
deep  and  the  king  of  the  wind  have  united  their  forces, 
and   the   roaring  of  the    waves    increases  in   fierceness. 
The   booming   of  the    gun    grows    fainter    and   fainter. 
Hark   to  the  dreadful  shrieks,  feel  the  violence  of  the 
shock,   the   fury   of  the   wind   as   the   ship   breaks   into 
pieces;   see  the   horror-stricken   faces  as  they  are  tossed 
upon    the   maddening  billows;   hear  the  wild  exultations 


WRECKED,  28l 

of  the  ferocious  monarch  of  the  deep  as  he  shouts  his 
orders  to  his  vassals,  the  demons  of  the  gale. 

In  the  morning  the  waters  of  the  lake  are  placid, 
with  here  and  there  a  white-robed  swan  gracefully  rock 
ing  upon  her  swelling  bosom.  There  is  nothing  left  to 
tell  of  the  fierce  storm  of  yesternight  but  the  ruins  of  a 
vessel  stranded  upon  the  shore  and  a  corpse  or  two, 
"Somebody's  darling,"  with  the  good-bye  kiss  almost 
warm  upon  their  lips. 

Who  can  portray  a  life  wreck  ? 

Have  you  never  seen  a  young  girl,  pure  as  a  snow- 
flake,  and  as  fair  as  pure,  whose  presence  filled  the  room 
with  sunny  gladness,  whose  voice  was  sweeter  than  the 
song  of  many  birds,  and  whose  laugh  was  more  musical 
than  an  yEolian  harp  ?  Have  you  never  known  such  a 
one  to  be  wrecked  upon  the  rocks  of  pride  and  fashion  ? 

God  pity  her,  whosoever  she  may  be,  and  throw 
around  her  His  broad  mantle  of  charity,  for  she  has  irrev 
ocably  lost  what  a  life-time  of  the  most  remorseful  agony 
cannot  restore. 

'Tis  exceedingly  dreadful  to  contemplate  the  vast  army 
of  life-wrecks,  and  hear  their  sturdy  tramp  down,  even 
to  the  portals  of  the  loathesomc  tomb.  There  they  go, 
young  and  old;  you  have  known  some  of  them  in  their 
better  days.  How  pleasant  were  their  expectations  as 
they  went  to  battle  manfully  with  the  common  occur 
rences  of  life.  Truth  was  their  rudder,  honesty  their 
helm,  integrity  their  captain.  They  were  iron-bound 
by  a  mother's  love,  and  steel-ribbed  by  the  tender  mem 
ories  of  home. 

Their  vessel  will  outride  the  most  furious  tempest,  and 


be  wafted  into  port  by  fragrant  winds  and  ambrosial 
dews.  But  they,  too,  were  allured  by  the  deceitful 
sirens  and  were  tossed  on  sin's  tempestuous  sea,  till 
truth,  honesty  and  integrity  were  all  swept  away  in  a 
storm  of  inebriety.  The  iron  bands  of  a  mother's  love  and 
the  steel-ribbed  principles  were  first  burst  asunder  by 
the  furious  hurricane,  and  the  hand  of  the  recording 
angel  grew  stiff  with  horror  as  it  penned  the  words 
"Life  Wreck." 

Oh,  the  ineffable  misery  of  the  life  wreck,  when  the 
cold  fingers  of  the  icy  monster,  Death,  are  clutching  at 
their  heart-strings,  and  they  are  standing  on  the  preci 
pice  of  despair,  with  the  eternal  chasm  of  desolation 
yawning  beneath  their  feet  ! 

Let  us  not  quiescently  repose  at  home,  vainly  sighing1 
for  the  return  of  the  golden  age,  but  earnestly  work  to 
raise  such  a  holy  rebellion  that  Ate  and  her  legions,  will 
be  overwhelmed,  and  the  reign  of  Astrea,  the  goddess 
of  justice,  re-established. 

Is  the  exquisite  workmanship  of  the  Infallible  ? — 
the  amazing  mechanism  of  the  extremely  wonderful  hu 
man  body,  even,  beyond  the  giant  intellect  of  man  him 
self,  to  be  life- wrecked,  while  God  lives,  and  reason  sits 
upon  her  throne,  and  the  warm  human  heart  beats 
within  the  breast  of  men  and  women  that  walk  these 
streets  ?  Shall  we  not  vigorously  inculcate  and  vindicate 
the  divine  attribute,  benevolence,  and  obliterate  the  su^ 
perstructure  of  all  human  depravity,  selfishness  ? 


JOHN  MARVIN. 


had  fallen  to  an  unusual  depth;  the  cold 
was  intense,  and  rendered  more  intolerable  by 
the  fierce  wind  which  pierced  the  thinly  clad 
pedestrians  to  their  hearts,  and  chilled  the  warm 
blood  in  their  veins,  as  a  blast  from  the  north  pole  chills 
a  bank  of  summer  violets. 

By  ten  o'clock  the  streets  were  almost  deserted. 
About  eleven  the  door  of  a  fashionable  saloon  slowly 
opened  and  there  entered  a  gaunt  and  hungry  looking 
man,  with  bare  toes,  red  and  shining,  peering  through 
an  old  pair  of  boots,  and  tattered  clothes,  which  gave 
evidence  of  a  life  of  dissipation.  The  man's  clothing 
seemed  to  be  endowed  with  the  traits  of  humanity,  for 
there  was  a  gulf  between  the  vest  and  trousers;  the 
vest,  being  not  quite  so  ragged  and  of  finer  cloth  than 
the  trousers,  objected  to  a  social  union,  however  strongly 
the  piercing  winds  of  winter  hinted  at  the  comfort  of 
such  an  arrangement* 

The  man  was  five  feet,  ten  inches  in  height,  broad- 
shouldered,  full-chested,  and  a  form  emaciated  and 
slightly  bent;  head  and  beard  unshorn,  very  dark,  and 
thickly  sprinkled  with  gray.  His  forehead,  deeply 
seamed,  was  white  and  almost  massive,  and  his  head  of 
faultless  mould.  His  eye  was  dark  gray^  sunken,  and  of 


peculiar  and  fascinating  po\vcr.  There  was  nothing- 
rough  in  his  manner;  on  the  contrary,  there  was  an  easy 
grace,  almost  elegance,  which  betokened  a  day  of  edu 
cation  and  refinement.  lie  stood  by  the  door  awhile,  as 
if  blinded  by  the  brilliantly-lighted  interior,  then,  stag 
gering  up  to  the  polished  bar,  he  spoke  in  a  trembling 
voice  to  the  bar-keeper: 

"  Once  I  wras  the  possessor  of  thousands ;  to-night  I 
am  dying  of  starvation  and  cold.  For  three  days  I  have 
not  tested  food;  for  God's  sake  give  me  something  to 
drink!" 

The  answer  came  cold  and  cutting:. 

o 

"  That's  played  out,  old  chap — wrorn  thread -bare  long 
ago;  only  gentlemen  are  allowed  on  these  premises; 
git!" 

*  *  #  *:•-•..'•#'•'-•.'*...'-  4!  * 

"  Has  it  come  to  this  ?  Can  this  be  death  ?  Ground 
under  the  heel  of  poverty,  shivering  with  cold,  hunger 
gnawing  at  my  heart-strings,  what  matters  it?  One  by 
one  the  leaden  grains  are  disappearing;  the  hour-glass 
is  almost  empty.  Where  are  the  butterflies  which  cir 
cled  round  the  golden  shrine  of  summer?  King  John 
they  used  to  call  me.  King  of  what?  a  few  grains  of 
yellow  dust.  Born  in  a  palace,  starving  in  a  garret. 
Who  can  unweave  the  tangled  web  of  destiny?  What 
have  I  gathered  from  the  past,  but  ashes  of  bitterness  ? 
My  purposes  have  been  broken  reeds,  and  at  last  I  stand 
at  the  gates  of  death,  groping  in  the  shadow.  To  die 
and  be  forgotten!  Ob,  dreadful  thought!  To  be  ex 
tinguished  as  a  breath  of  air  exterminates  yon  flickering 
candle;  rot  like  a  dull  weed,  disappear  like  a  meteor, 


JOHN    MAiiviis*  285 

the  soul  incarcerated  within  the  mouldy  walls  of  the 
grave  forever.  -Impossible!  the  inextinguishable  fires 
of  hell  would  be  far  more  preferable.  Oh,  Jesus,  thou 
son  of  David,  have  mercy  on  me!" 

The  reverberation  of  the  voice  of  Him  who  said, 
"  All  that  come  unto  me  I  will  in  no  wise  cast  out," 
came  from  the  tomb  of  the  past  and  rekindled  the  em 
bers  of  the  ruins  of  former  consciousness,  partly  con 
sumed  by  idleness  and  dissipation,  but  still  glowing 
upon  the  altar  of  the  noble  and  impassioned  soul,  estab 
lishing  the  Immovable  certitude  of  divine  law  which 

o 

truly  sways  the  lever,  whose  fulcrum  is  justice,  whose 
extent  is  rectitude,  whose  weight  is  the  universe,  and 
whose  sweep  is  endless  duration.  So,  on  the  very  verge 
of  eternity,  his  weary  soul  drank  in  the  incarnate  rapture 
of  divine  mercy,  and  from  the  billows  of  remorse  arose 
an  ardent  heart-prayer  which  sprang  from  inner  depths 
of  the  soul's  life,  and  condensed  the  repentance  of  a  life 
time.  On  the  marsh  of  despond  the  crystalline  dews  of 
hope  fell,  transfiguring  the  rank  weeds  into  lilies  of  holi 
ness,  whose  perfume  was  wafted  by  the  soft  winds  of 
perfect  peace  into  the  purple  chamber  of  the  soul  for- 
e  verm  ore. 

The  night  was  bitter  cold,  but  he  knew  it  not.  The 
moon  shone  gloriously  through  the  attic  window.  Phvs- 
ical  suffering  for  him  was  past.  The  gnawing  of 
hunger,  the  piercing  of  cold,  was  gone.  In  the  solemn 
pauses  of  the  wind  storm  he  saw  a  visioned  summer, 
heard  the  birds  sing,  and  smelt  the  perfume  of  the 
violets  which  grew  in  the  old  garden  at  home.  A  de 
licious  drowsiness  stole  over  him.  He  was  a  child  again, 


286  JOHN     MARVIN. 

From  the  dim  glades  of  the  past,  soft  and  low  as  angels' 
footsteps,  down  the  purple  tide  of  weary  day  came  the 
sweet  voice  of  his  mother  singing  to  him  his  cradle  song. 
So,  repeating  to  himself  the  childish  prayer  which 
always  followed  after  the  song,  he  fell  asleep. 

Three  days  after,  the  lifeless  body  of  the  once  fash 
ionable  John  M was  found  by  a  little  newsboy,  his 

only  earthly  friend,  and  buried  by  the  city.  His  funeral 
procession  consisted  of  two  drunken  Irishmen,  who 
buried,  him,  and  a  little  ragged  boy,  who  wept  great 
tears,  which  fell  upon  the  rude  pine  coffin  in  the  form  of 
a  wreath;  tears  which  were  frozen  as  they  fell,  and, 
when  tinted  by  the  golden  sunbeams,  resembled  a  crown 
of  orient  pearls  which  were  in  fact  a  priceless  diadem  of 
beauty  gathered  from  the  mine  of  human  sympathy. 

Poor  John  never  having  been  taught  the  dignity  of 
labor,  his  unfledged  wings  were  useless;  he  was  like  a 
tropical  bird  caught  in  a  northern  blast.  He  lacked  the 
necessary  experience  which  the  stern  teaching  of  pov 
erty  imparts  to  her  favored  children,  rendering  them 
almost  invincible.  Prosperity  is  but  a  shadow  upon  the 
dial-plate  of  time;  the  winds  arise,  the  clouds  gather, 
and  it  is  gone.  All  pay  reverence  to  the  giant  oak  upon 
a  summer's  day ;  but  few  prop  up  its  trembling  branches 
during  a  winter  storm. 

We  all  understand  the  brevity  of  human  life,  but  few^ 
very  few,  extract  the  sweets  from  the  golden  flowers  of 
the  present.  The  beauties  of  the  morning  sunrise  pass 
unnoticed.  Like  a  vast  multitude  of  moths,  we  are 
longing  to  singe  our  wings  in  the  fierce  blaze  of  noon 
day,  which  we  spend  in  vain  regrets,  delusive  hopes,  and 


JOHN     MARVIX.  27 

foolish  fears.  Amid  the  glories  of  an  evening  sunset  we 
stand  in  the  marsh  of  despond,  whilst  adown  ethereal 
space  a  gleaming  flood  of  gold  gilds  the  landscape  with 
marvelous  beauty. 

John  M was  but  one  victim  in  a  thousand  of  the 

false  teaching  that  honest  labor  is  dishonorable.  Slave 
to  society,  which  demands  of  its  votaries  nothing  but 
senseless  extravagance,  which  enwraps  the  sons  and 
daughters  of  America  with  the  strength  of  a  boa-con 
strictor,  till  their  souls  are  shriveled  as  the  body  of  an 
Egyptian  mummy;  truth,  trust  and  honesty  are  blown 
away  like  fallen  leaves  in  an  autumn  gale,  while  the  ac 
cursed  inbreathing  of  dishonesty,  flowing  from  the 
golden  sluices  of  political  aristocracy,  invades  the  air  like 
miasma  from  an  African  swamp. 

Every  series  of  human  events  repeats  its  own  history ; 
every  human  act  inscribes  itself  on  the  globe  of  memory, 
and  can  never  be  entirely  obliterated  from  the  scroll  of 
time  when  written  by  the  sunbeams  of  truth. 

When  the  flame  is  gone,  the  smoke  and  ashes  remain. 
As  the  clouds  gather  vapor,  so  life  gathers  atoms.  As 
the  clouds  would  be  useless  without  the  wind,  so  would 
human  life  without  the  immortal  spirit.  At  one  time 
the  sheeny,  purpling  clouds  glide  majestically  through  a 
smiling  summei\sky,  at,  another,  driven  violently  along, 
accompanied  by  vivid  flashes  of  lightning  and  rolling- 
thunder,  they  are  at  last  torn  and  scattered  by  their  death 
winds.  This,  too,  is  an  emblem  of  life,  and  though  the 
rain  storm  was  of  short  duration,  it  left  its  sepulcher  in 
the  smiling  fields  and  wrote  its  modest  epitaph  upon  the 
lofty  trees,  bladed  grass  and  blooming  flowers. 


-88 


JOHN     MARVIN. 


The  sun  prints  a  map  of  its  presence  on  the  face  of 
nature  more  or  less  lasting  —  writing  with  his  gold  pen 
his  past  course  upon  the  plant  and  the  pebble,  the  rock 
and' the  leaf,  the  snow  upon  the  mountain,  the  soil  in  the 
valley.  His  power  is  in  the  sky,  his  mercy  in  the  air. 
The  universe  is  a  memorandum  of  his  signature,  which 
speaks  to  the  intelligent. 


COMPARISON    BETWEEN    VOLTAIRE   AND 
ST.  PAUL 

J5?HOM   have  we  here  ?     Voltaire.     Endowed 
f 

}f/$l  with  genius,  intellectually  great,  dignified 
graceful,  and  fascinating  in  a  remarkable 
degree;  not  only  courted  by  those  who 
wielded  the  scepter  of  government,  but .  also  by  those 
who  wielded  the  scepter  of  knowledge;  crowned  with 
celebrity,  admired  of  men,  and  worshipped  by  women, 
surely  he  was  greatly  blessed.  His  opportunities  for 
doing  good  were  ever  ample.  Did  he  improve  them  ? 
Lives  there  to-day,  one  person  upon  the  face  of  the 
globe,  who  can  truly  say  that  the  gifted  Voltaire  was  a 
real  benefit  to  mankind  ?  Was  ever  any  one  better  or 
happier  for  having  gained  his  friendship  ?  Do  parents, 
as  a  general  thing,  place  his  writings  in  the  hands  of 
their  children  ?  Possessing  wealth,  love,  fame,  friend 
ship,  wit,  genius  —  everything  that  the  world  could 
give,  yet  was  he  happy?  was  he  satisfied?  Let  him 
speak  for  himself — hear  what  he  says  :  "  The  world 
abounds  with  wonders,  and  also  with  victims.  In  man 
is  more  wretchedness  than  in  all  other  animals  put  to 
gether."  By  what  did  he  judge  mankind?  by  himself. 
He  furthermore  says :  "  Man  loves  life,  yet  he  knows 
he  must  die;  spends  his  existence  in  diffusing  the  mis- 


290          COMPARISON — VOLTAIRE    AND    ST.  PAUL. 

cries  he  has  suffered,  cutting  the  throat  of  his  fellow 
creatures  for  pay — cheating  and  being  cheated ;  the  bulk 
of  mankind  are  nothing  more  than  a  crowd  of  wretches 
equally  unfortunate.  I  wish  I  had  never  been  born." 
You  perceive  that  Voltaire  was  weary  of  life ;  but  wrere 
his  anticipations  joyful,  when  he  could  not  avoid  going 
out  upon  the  unknown  current  of  eternity?  Forsaken 
by  friends,  he  stretched  forth  his  hands,  but  their  clutch 
was  weak,  few  tears  fell,  no  loving  arms  clasped  him 
Human  skill  was  vain,  and  he  went  drifting,  drifting, 
past  the  arches,  and  the  columns,  alone  and  helpless, 
down  the  long  arcade  into  the  infinite,  lost,  lost,  lost  ! 

Here  is  St.  Paul.  He,  too,  was  educated  in  manners, 
law  and  science — beloved  and  extolled  by  the  Jews ;  for 
he  wras  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of  the  traditions  of  the 
Pharisaic  school  and  a  zealous  persecutor  of  the  Chris 
tians.  But  when  his  eyes  were  opened,  how  nobly  he 
retrieved  the  past.  What  an  honor  to  his  country  and  a 
blessing  to  humanity.  Though  generation  after  genera 
tion  has  faded  from  sight,  like  the  glory  of  the  sunset 
from  the  evening  sky,  the  memory  of  St.  Paul  is  very 
pleasant,  and  his  writings  are  in  every  home.  While 
the  beautiful  gems  which  dropped  from  his  lips  in  the 
long  ago  fall  upon  the  ears  of  the  invalid  of  to-day  like 
the  softest  strains  from  the  golden  wires  of  an  Eolian 
harp;  when  desponding  and  world-weary,  how  it 
lightens  our  burdens  to  think  of  Paul,  and  as  the  North 
Star  guides  the  mariner  safe  to  harbor,  so  the  heroic  ex 
ample  of  faithful  Paul  shines  before  us  and  guides  us  on 
and  on,  over  the  thorns  and  up  the  rugged  way,  nearer 
the  throne.  From  a  persecutor,  Paul  became  persecuted. 


COMPARISON — VOLTAIRE    AND    ST.  PAUL.          1L)l 

He  was  arrested  and  arraigned  before  King  Agrippa. 
Behold  him  as  he  stood  up  manfully  while  surrounded 
by  enemies  and  eloquently  pleaded  the  cause  of  the 
"  Lord  of  Lords,  and  King  of  Kings. "  His  life  was  in 
danger;  he  was  scourged,  stoned,  driven  here  and  there, 
imprisoned,  and  persecuted  in  every  manner.  Despised 
and  forgotten  by  former  friends,  he  wandered  along  the 
way-side  of  life,  scattering  seeds  which  were  to  spring 
up  and  yield  such  a  bountiful  harvest  in  the  future.  Was 
Paul  happy  ?  Through  the  past,  for  the  good  of  pos 
terity,  comes  the  echo  of  those  immortal  words  :  "  I 
have  fought  a  good  fight,  I  have  finished  my  course ;  I 
have  kept  the  faith.  Henceforth  there  is  laid  up  for  me 
a  crown  of  righteousness,  which  the  Lord,  the  right 
eous  judge,  will  give  me  at  that  day."  Paul  was  happy. 
And  though  he  suffered  decapitation  in  the  reign  of 
Nero/  he  died  a  glorious  death.  "  Angels  hovered 
around  "  the  dying  scene,  and  "  the  spirit  of  the  living 
God  "  brought  such  mental  joy  that  his  physical  suffer 
ing-  was  unfelt. 


ERNEST  TREMA1N. 


AINTER  and  fainter  became  the  rolling  thun 
der  as  the  dark  clouds  parted  slowly  and  sailed 
majestically  away.  The  rain  ceased.  The  sun 
^peered  through  the  racking  clouds.  A  rainbow 
arched  the  heavens,  then  disappeared  as  the  sun  shone 
forth  warm  and  bright.  The  passing  breeze  like  the 
kindly  hand  of  a  friend  tenderly  shook  the  over-burdened 
trees,  lightened  them  of  their  load,  and  softly  brushed  the 
tears  from  the  hearts'  of  the  flowers,  w'.iile  the  sun 
changed  those  which  remained  into  shining  pearls,  just 
as  the  Holy  Spirit  turns  the  drops  of  penitent  agony  in 
the  human  heart  into  a  casket  of  sparkling  jewels 
which  in  God's  own  good  time  shall  blaze  forth  in  the 
glorious  halls  of  eternity. 

The  grand  loveliness  of  the  landscape  mingled  with 
the  genial  air  and  the  perfumed  breath  of  flowers  seemed 
to  invite  Ernest  Tremain  to  solitude.  He  left  the  city 
and  ascended  the  mountain.  The  beautiful  storehouse 
of  Nature  opened  her  richest  treasures  at  his  feet  and 
seemed  to  reproach  him  for  his  past  vileness,  as  he  sat 
musing  alone  on  the  trunk  of  an  ancient  pine  tree,  fit 
symbol  of  fallen  greatness.  A  host  of  phantoms  with 
their  mighty  voices  came  creeping  from  the  past,  kind 
ling  strangely  bitter  fires,  causing  them  to  burn  and  tor- 


ERNEST     TREMAIN.  293 

ture  his  fiercely  throbbing  heart  anew.  Hopes,  dreams, 
and  memories  that  he  thought  had  fled  upon  the  receding 
waves  of  time  forever,  came  mournfully  surging  back 
through  the  rusty  bars  of  forgetfulness  into  the  bright 
ened  corridors  of  memory,  mastering  pride,  and  driving 
the  currents  of  anguish  against  the  "windows  of  his 
soul "  and  there  breaking  and  falling  into  a  silent  spray 
of  pain. 

The  bright  summer  days  of  his  youth  had  gone  for 
ever.  The  fond  dreams  of  his  fancy  had  been  dimmed 
somewhat,  whilst  wandering  through  the  green-woods 
of  life.  Autumn  came  and  the  grand  loveliness  of  the 
waning  summer  fell  around  him  dark  and  cold,  then  the 
winds  arose  and  the  ominous  rain  of  unbelief  fell  in  co 
pious  showers  from  the  lowering  clouds  of  sorrow,  and 
overflowed  the  deep  founts  of  his  heart  and  turned  them 
all  to  bitterness. 

For  the  first  time  in  life  Trcmain  prayed,  wrongly 
prayed,  for  death,  for  oblivion,  for  annihilation,  anything 
but  his  present  remorse.  Darkness  gathered  around, 
darkness  which  could  be  felt  as  the  wailing  wind  sobbed 
through  the  moaning  pines.  He  saw  himself  just  as  he 
was,  in  all  his  baseness,  and  hated  himself  accordingly. 
His  faithful  dog  made  several  attempts  to  caress  him  but 
he  drove  him  away  with  curses.  A  storm  arose.  The 
rain  descended,  the  lightning  flashed,  the  thunder  rolled, 
but  he  heeded  them  not,  for  the  storm  without  was 
peaceful  to  the  terrific  storm  which  raged  within. 

Morning  dawned  at  last,  bright  and  beautiful.  The 
powerful  sire  of  day  arose  in  majestic  splendor  and 
smiled  beneficently  on  the  universe,  whilst  the  great  Sire 


294  ERNEST    TREMAIN. 

of  sires  looked  down  with  infinite  mercy  upon  a  poor, 
fallen  soul  lying  prostrate  with  anguish,  on  the  lonely 
mountain.  So,  by  and  by,  the  tempestuous  storm  abated, 
and  the  transient  sunbeams  of  hope  shone  through  the 
brightened  clouds,  and  down  the  dim,  dry  glades  of 
memory  came  faintly,  so  very  faintly,  the  soft  sweet 
strain  of  forgotten  music  from  the  lips  of  Faith,  sweep 
ing  away  the  dark  webs  of  scoffing  and  selfishness,  awak 
ening  the  viewless  spirit  of  the  mind  to  nobler  action, 
and  soothing  the  secret  longing  of  the  soul  by  softly 
whispering  "  Love,  labor  and  wait." 

Why  does  it  take  years  of  sorrow,  months  of  suffering, 
weeks  of  pain,  and  days  and  nights  of  sharpest  agony, 
to  teach  us  the  simple  little  lesson  of  loving,  laboring 
and  waiting  aright?  Why  have  we  the  courage  to  let 
the  blighting  air  from  the  desert  of  sin  sweep  the  golden 
fringe  of  purity  from  the  purple  chamber  of  our  souls, 
and  n'ot  the  fortitude  to  cease  mourning  its  departure? 

Ernest  T remain  fell  upon  his  knees  and  prayed  aright, 
as  he  had  never  prayed  since  childhood,  and  God  blessed 
him,  and  the  vail  of  darkness  was  rent  from  the  eyes  of  his 
understanding,  the  demon  of  misery  fled  and  the  white- 
robed  angel  of  tranquility  smiled  peace  into  his  soul,  as 
he  arose  and  threw  away  the  powder  which  he  had  been 
treasuring  in  the  magazine  of  appetite,  plucked  hate 
from  his  heart  and  scattered  the  ashes  of  the  past  to  the 
winds  of  oblivion,  as  one  by  one  a  vast  procession  of 
shades  passed  before  him,  then  faded  into  the  past 
forever. 

He  stooped  and  patted  his  patient  4cg  on  the  head 
spoke  kindly  to  him,  the  dog  whorq  |ie  had  cursed 


ERNEST   TREMAIN.  295 

the  night  before.  His  voice  was  changed,  his  step 
was  firm,  his  eye  was  earnest,  and  his  head  erect,  for  he 
had  resolved  to  regain  his  squandered  birthright,  to  take 
up  the  world  unto  himself,  and  surmount  the  mountain 
of  difficulty  which  lay  in  his  pathway,  and  no  longer 
cumber  the  ground  a  dead  and  fruitless  tree. 

Life  resembles  a  high  mountain.  In  the  spring-time 
of  youth  the  trees  bud  and  blossom,  the  birds  sing 
sweetly,  the  primrose  and  violet  bloom  along  our  path 
way;  we  are  happy  and  hopeful,  and  eagerly  grasp  at 
the  surrounding  beauties.  We  begin  at  the  base  with 
joyous  laughter,  but  spring  wears  on  apace.  The  moun 
tain  becomes  more  rough  and  rugged,  and  summer  finds 
us  but  half  way  up,  the  blossoms  begin  to  fall  from  the 
trees,  as  innocence  from  our  young  hearts,  our  way  be 
comes  more  rocky  and  uneven,  the  sun  beats  down 
fiercely  upon  us,  and  we  murmur,  lose  faith,  and  are 
easily  discouraged ;  some  wander  off  here  from  the  true 
path  and  enter  a  green  land.  The  lane  is  pleasant  at 
first,  but  ends  in  a  gulf,  the  gulf  in  infinite  despair. 
Others  have  gone  from  the  trees,  only  the  fruit  remains, 
but  some  of  the  fruit  is  sour,  worthless,  bitter;  on  one 
hand  trees  are  shorn  of  leaves,  fruit  and  blossoms,  the 
words  of  unbelief  have  at  last  gained  admittance  into 
their  hearts  and  they  stand  dead  and  sapless,  whilst  on 
the  other  they  are  laden  with  frin't  grateful  to  the  eye, 
pleasant  to  the  touch,  luscious  to  the  taste  and  strength 
ening  to  the  inner  man,  but  will  it  all  k?ep  pure  and 
spotless  through  the  winter?  I'm  afraid  not, 

'Tis  winter,  we  can  go  no  farther;  we  must  descend^ 
like  a  band  of  pilgrims  we  fain  would  stop  and  rest,  buf 


296 


ERNEST    TREMAIX. 


remorseless  Time  pushes  us  clown,  down !  Happy  are 
the  trees  which  cling  closely  to  the  rock  of  life,  as  the 
storms  of  winter  close  around  them,  and  retain  their  life- 
giving"  sap  to  blossom  again  in  the  resurrection  morn, 


in  the  garden  of  the  Eternal. 


RELIGION. 

•RUE  religion  is  a  leveler — it  causes  the  head 
of  the  haughty  to  bow,  and  raises  the  eyes 
of  the  humble.  The  exclusive  aristocrat  and 
the  liberal  democrat  should  meet  as  equals 
around  the  altar.  The  ponderous  doors  of  the  Divine 
ark  are  not  opened  by  routine  or  method,  but  by  active 
faith  and  earnest  prayer.  The  steps  which  lead  into  the 
ark  are  rough,  high,  and  hard  to  climb.  The  first  is  re 
pentance,  followed  by  amendment;  the  second  is  firm 
reliance  on  the  veracity  of  God;  the  third  is  charity,  or 
liberality  in  judging  the  words  or  actions  of  others;  the 
fourth  is  unselfishness,  which  is  only  another  name  for 
active  goodness.  The  path  of  rectitude,  though  some 
times  rugged,  always  leads  to  peace  and  pleasure.  The 
indulgence  of  one  wrong  and  unselfish  act  can  only  be 
rectified  in  thought  of  regret.  No  self-denial  or  atone 
ment  can  recall  the  past.  By  the  divine  gift  of  memory 
we  are  warned  by  the  past  and  cautioned  to  pay  more 
strict  attention  to  duty  in  the  present,  and  also  taught  to 
do  right  and  rely  on  the  wisdom  of  our  Father  to  pro 
vide  for  the  future. 

A  great  many  of  the  wise   and  learned  of  every  age 
seem  to  have  been  laboring  under  the  impression  that 

**  the  Christian  religion  is  a  religion  of  sorrow,"     We 
13 


290  RELIGION. 

presume  that  this  idea  arose  from  the  fact  that  horrible 
atrocities  have  been  perpetrated  in  the  vain  hope  of  crush 
ing  out  this  great  human  leveler,  and  bitter  enmities  im 
planted  which  the  recent  massacre  of  Acapulco  teaches 
us  centuries  have  not  availed  entirely  to  eradicate.  We 
are  proud  to  admit  that  many  of  the  brightest  gems  of 
manhood  and  womanhood  have  suffered  persecution,  in 
carceration,  crucifixion,  decapitation  and  martyrdom  at 
the  stake  for  the  upholding  of  the  royal  standard  of 
King  Jesus.  Yes ;  we  glory  in  a  religion  which  permit 
ted  that  grand  old  man,  Bishop  Latimer,  at  whose  feet 
the  fire  was  already  lighted,  to  give  utterance  to  these 
prophetic  words :  "  Be  of  good  comfort,  master  Ridley, 
and  play  the  man ;  we  shall  this  day  light  such  a  candle, 
by  God's  grace,  in  England,  as  I  trust  shall  never  be  put 
out."  And  though  the  fagots  were  already  burning 
around  this  God-like  Bishop,  he  did  not  seem  to  be  very 
sorrowful.  Ah!  Bishop,  the  fire  with  which  thine  ene 
mies  sought  to  destroy  thee,  served  but  to  perpetuate  thy 
memory,  and  caused  others  to  vindicate  thy  principles 
and  emulate  thy  virtues.  Although  the  miseries  of 
those  who  have  lost  life  and  property  for  vindicating 
and  inculcating  truth  and  justice,  are  great,  yet  the  can 
did  are  forced  to  admit  they  are  small  in  comparison  with 
the  enormous  amount  of  wretchedness  originating  from 
unbelief  and  sin.  Christianity  ennobles  and  elevates; 
sin  debases  and  demoralizes.  Science  tells  us  that  the 
moon  of  itself  is  dark  and  covered  with  barren  rocks. 
Blot  out  the  king  of  day,  and  you  immediately  blot  out 
the  majesty  of  the  queen  of  night.  Mankind,  like  the 
jrioon,  is  naturally  dark  and  barren  of  goodness;  but  th§ 


RELIGION.  299 

majestic  light  emanating  from  the  King  of  Righteous 
ness  enlightens,  beautifies  and  dignifies  humanity,  until, 
in  our  amazement,  we  are  apt  to  forget  the  source  from 
whence  it  comes. 

It  cannot  be  agreeable  to  suffer  in  any  sense  of  the 
word.  It  is  emphatically  a  disagreeable  evil,  though  it 
may  be  our  duty  to  bear  it,  and  the  knowledge  of  having 
saved  others  from  its  endurance  is  of  course  a  grand  and 
noble  satisfaction.  If  it  were  a  pleasant  thing  in  itself, 
we  should  wish  others  to  suffer,  but  the  gratification  lies 
not  at  all  in  the  sorrow  or  suffering,  but  in  the  thought 
of  having  averted  it  from  those  we  love.  It  is  surely  a 
proof  of  overruling  beneficence  that  humanity  can  thus 
obtain  a  pleasure  from  the  fires  of  agony. 

But  why  should  we  mislead  ourselves  and  others  by 
attempting  to  conceal  the  fact  that  misery  in  every  form, 
whether  physical  or  mental,  is  but  an  evidence  of  our 
own  imperfections  which  we  should  deplore  and  seek  to 
mend.  Why  was  Christ  a  man  of  sorrow?  Because 
he  suffered  for  the  sins  of  others.  Every  one  of  the 
sorrows  of  Christ  originated  from  the  disobedience  of 
humanity.  Take  away  sin  in  every  form,  and  sorrow 
and  suffering  will  cease.  How  can  the  Christian  relig 
ion  be  a  religion  of  sorrow,  when  the  Participator  and 
Alleviator  of  all  sorrow  hath  said,  "  Your  sorrow  shall 
be  turned  into  joy  ? "  The  human  heart  is  the  most  won 
derful  piece  of  mechanism  which  God  ever  created.  It 
is  pained  by  disappointment,  excited  by  passion,  moved 
by  pity,  and  ruled  by  love.  We  are  amazed  at  our  own 
actions ;  we  mark  out  for  ourselves  a  path  from  which 
W?  do  not  intend  to  deviate;  but  passion  ensnares  us^ 


300  RELIGION. 

and  we  are  astray..  We  form  resolutions  which  we 
firmly  intend  to  adhere  to,  even  at  the  loss  of  life;  pity 
weeps  a  tear,  and  they  are  shaken;  love  takes  possession, 
and  the  high  purposes,  grand  aspirations  and  pure  prin 
ciples  of  a  life-time  yield  to  inclination  as  straws  yield  to 
a  whirlwind.  Our  present  life  is  an  incomprehensible 
mystery,  but  the  Christian  religion  is  not  "a  religion 
of  sorrow "  by  any  means.  Only  those  who  possess  it 
are  capable  of  enjoying  true  happiness.  We  pity  the 
contumacy  of  the  nature  that  will  persist  in  dwelling  in 
the  shrouded  Cimmerian  darkness  when,  by  a  single 
effort,  it  could  push  out  into  the  cheerful  sunshine  and 
boundless  riches  of  a  Father's  love. 


UNCHANGEABLE   LOVE. 

ENVIABLE  is  the  lot  of  those  that  are  never 
forgotten ;  equally  happy  are  those  who  receive 
from  their  fellows  sincere  trust  and  perennial 
friendship.  What  is  true  friendship,  but  Pla 
tonic  love  ?  What  do  we  love  with  ?  With  our  souls, 
of  course.  We  are  told  that  the  soul  is  immortal;  if 
that  be  true,  the  love  of  the  soul  may  be  as  much 
immortal  as  God  himself,  and  Heaven  would  not 
be,  without  those  we  love.  Where  God  is,  there  is 
Heaven.  Be  it  deep  down  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth, 
or  far  up,  above  the  blue  pavilion,  beyond  the  glittering 
constellations  to  the  infinitude  of  space,  it  matters  not,  so 
God  is  there. 

The  fundamental  principle  of  Heaven  is  love.  The 
superstructure  of  the  infernal  region  is  built  on  selfish 
ness,  envy  and  hate.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  most  in 
flexible  friendship  and  the  divinest  love,  where  would 
we  be  to-day  ?  Upon  what  a  fearful  precipice  would  we 
be  standing  !  How  dark  would  have  been  the  present  ! 
what  infernal  gloom ;  what  utter  darkness  would  have 
enshrouded  the  future  as  we  went  gliding  down  the 
precipice  of  time  ! 

When  we  are  smitten  with  disease,  and  hemmed  in  by 
the  darkness  of  desolation,  and  weep  with  bitterness  of 


302  UNCHANGEABLE    LOVE. 

heart,  and  lament  with  the  waitings  of  the  lost;  when 
human  trust  and  love  fail,  and  we  sit  in  the  lowermost 
pit  of  dismay  and  sin;  when  we  stretch  forth  our  hands 
in  supplication,  and  raise  our  woeful  eyes  in  pleading  for 
human  compassion  and  succor — pleading  with  those 
whom  we  have  loved  and  trusted;  those  who  in  former 
days  had  loved  and  trusted  us — to  see  such  turn  away, 
and  with  words  of  ice  pass  by  on  the  other  side,  it  is 
then,  and  then  only,  that  the  mind  of  man  can  clearly 
grasp  the  wonderful  truism  contained  in  those  precious 
words,  "  God  is  love."  Love  is  Heaven ;  hate  is  hell ; 
wealth  is  a  deceiver;  worldly  fame  and  honor  continue 
not;  the  head  that  bows,  and  the  voice  that  extols  in 
prosperity,  shall  condemn  and  not  hold  you  innocent  in 
the  trial  of  adversity. 

That  being  does  not  exist  in  any  land,  no  matter 
how  exalted — were  he  peer  of  kings,  and  did  he 
possess  the  strength  of  Hercules,  the  wealth  and  wisdom 
of  Solomon,  the  beauty  of  Narcissus  and  the  unselfish 
ness  of  Moses — but  must  lie  down  and  sleep  at  last;  and 
the  sun  will  shine,  the  dew  fall,  the  rain  descend,  and 
the  withered  flowers  hold  up  their  heads  and  smile  as 
happily  as  if  the  city  of  decay  had  not  received  another 
occupant. 

As  the  water  impresses  the  stones,  so  love  impresses 
the  immortal  soul;  and  love  shall  live  again,  glorified, 
sanctified  through  all  eternity. 

Save  and  hoard,  you  men  of  wealth;  cramp  and  grind 
the  honest  poor ;  have  ye  forgotten  that  deeds  of  charity 
are  as  acceptable  to  the  Divine  heart  as  drops  of  dew  to 
a  land  of  drouth  ? 


UNCHANGAEBLE    LOVE.  303 

To  dress  and  be  fashionable  seems  to  be  the  highest 
aim  of  a  democratic  American  lady  now-a-days.  One 
ring  from  that  soft,  white  hand,  would  make  some  poor 
family  not  only  happy,  but  also  comfortable  all  winter. 
All  the  gew-gaws  that  wealth  can  buy  are  but  trash  to 
one  clasped  in  the  arms  of  the  angel  of  death. 

Your  days  are  numbered.  Your  opportunities  for  do 
ing  good  are  vanished.  Death  prevails;  hope  flies  away. 
The  worms  feed  as  greedily  upon  the  rich  man's  dainty 
darlings,  who  are  lovingly  laid  to  rest  with  funeral  pomp 
and  pride,  as  they  do  upon  the  weary  one  who  sleeps  in 
a  rude  coffin  in  an  unknown  grave,  with  none  to  mourn 
and  but  two  to  break  the  sod. 

What  is  life  but  a  shadow  ?  We  look  back  upon  the 
past  and  are  astonished.  We  think  of  the  wickedness 
and  snares  that  obtain  in  the  present,  and  are  well  nigh 
overwhelmed.  We  meditate  on  the  future  and  the  won 
drous  claims  of  love  with  the  very  essence  of  happiness, 
and  hope  binds  us  with  her  golden  fetters  to  earth,  and 
follows  our  loved  ones  to  the  empyrean  regions  of  fe 
licity. 


EMINENT  ENERGIES. 

OVE  and  perseverance  are  the  most  valuable 
traits  of  character  which  can  be  cultivated. 
Without  their  possession  happiness  is  im 
possible.  Nothing  affords  us  more  gratifi 
cation  than  friendly  intercourse  with  those  we  love. 
It  seems  to  be  natural  that  all  pure  social  feeling'  should 
be  attended  with  pleasure.  Benevolence,  sympathy,  sen 
sibility,  love  and  affability,  necessarily  produce  agreeable 
sensations  in  the  minds  of  the  participants. 

Let  all  social  intercouse  founded  on  true  love  and  con 
stancy,  depart  from  the  world,  and  the  golden  grain 
would  rot  in  the  fruitful  field;  the  waters  of  the  com 
mercial  oceans  would  stagnate,  and  the  loud  whirling  of 
machinery  and  noisy  manipulation  of  labor  would  cease. 
Men  would  prey  upon  one  another,  and  life  and  property 
would  be  insecure.  Witness  the  state  of  things  in  south 
ern  localities,  where  the  beautiful  angel  of  love  has  fled 
weeping  from  the  dark  demoniac  spirit  of  hate.  Behold 
Mexico,  where  bloodshed  and  'riot  obtain  in  place  of 
tranquility  and  happiness,  where  the  progeny  of  that  Old 
Python  not  only  desecrated  the  holy  of  holies  with  their 
presence,  but  stung  to  death  the  pious  devotees  of  the 
Living  God  at  the  very  foot  of  the  altar. 

Without  the  sweet  solace  of  love,  the  prolific  plain  of 


EMINENT    ENERGIES.  305 

the  human  heart  would  soon  become  a  barren  desert. 

• 

It  is  the  mainspring  of  all  human  action.  It  strengthens 
the  arm  of  the  laborer,  sharpens  the  wit  of  the  lawyer, 
and  gives  endurance  to  the  widow,  perseverance  to  the 
missionary,  and  calms  the  mind  of  the  sailor  as  he  climbs 
the  mast  in  the  furious  hurricane,  with  visions  of  a  safe 
home-nest  where  dwell  his  household  gods  in  peace  and 
safety.  It  is  the  love  of  civil  liberty  which  animates  the 
soldier  as  he  stands  firm  and  never  falters,  while  one  by 
one  his  companions  fall  around  him.  He  sees  not  their 
pale,  upturned  faces,  nor  heeds  their  dying  moan.  It  is 
enough  for  him  to  know  that  the  glorious  constellation 
of  liberty  is  in  danger  of  obscuration ;  and  the  mournful 
cry  of  the  wounded  eagle  closes  his  eyes  and  shuts  his 
ears  to  other  sights  and  sounds. 

When  you  were  hungering  for  sympathy,  and  stretched 
forth  your  hand  for  the  soft,  warm  bread  of  appreciation, 
and  received  instead  the  hard,  cold  stone  of  distrust  and 
dislike,  does  that  prove  that  all  bread  is  stone  ?  surely 
not.  Because  your  friend  has  misunderstood  you,  is  that 
any  reason  that  you  should  begin  sowing  the  thistle  seed 
of  hate  ?  Have  you  done  for  your  friend  what  Christ 
did  for  you  ?  Do  you  wipe  the  bloody  sweat  of  agony 
from  his  brow  by  accepting  the  stupendous  sacrifice 
which  he  made  for  the  healing  of  sin  ?  Do  you  never 
distrust  his  mercy  and  love  for  yourself  ? 

The  divine  attributes  of  perseverance  and  love  bring 
their  own  reward;  they  are  the  frost-work  of  pure  gold 
to  the  purple  chamber  of  the  soul.  We  cannot  very 
well  help  being  pleased  with  ourselves,  not  only  for  the 
purity  of  our  motives,  but  for  the  unselfishness  of  our 


306  EMINENT    ENERGIES. 

purposes,  therefore  be  not  dismayed  if  you  have  cast  the 
rarest  jewels  of  your  heart  before  one  who  looked  upon 
them  as  paste.  Were  these  not  more  valuable  than  ever 
when  they  came  from  the  grinding  mill  of  the  lapidary 
of  sorrow  ? 

That  great  rock — Christianity  remains  unshaken,  while 
the  white-capped  waves  of  infidelity  roll  back  broken  by 
the  persevering  love  of  the  finite,  who  faithfully 
bore  the  cross  that  all  might  gain  the  crown  of  im 
mortality. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  LIFE. 

A    CHRISTMAS    POEM. 

All  the  sweet  stars  sang  and  glittered, 

In  the  radiant  olden  time, 
Till  the  cup  of  Life,  embittered, 

Flashed  along  their  feast  sublime; 
When  the  chorus  fell,  and  ever 

Though  they  spiled  through  falling  tears, 
Like  a  far,  resplendent  river, 

Ran  the  music  of  the  spheres. 

And  the  moon  uprose  serenely 

In  that  plaintive  time  of  old, 
And  her  mantle,  lustrous,  queenly, 

Like  a  silver  mist  unrolled ; 
But  her  brow  was  pale,  and  stilly 

All  her  beauty  clasped  the  air, 
And  she  wore  the  mystic  lily 

In  the  glory  of  her  hair. 

Then  the  crimson  lips  of  morning 
Kissed  the  world  to  life  and  light, 

And  the  blue  seas  caught  the  warning 
With  a  revel  of  delight ; 

And  the  bold  peaks  towered  grandly 
To  the  arches  of  the  sky, 


308  THE    LEGEND    OF    LIFE. 

While  the  perfumed  zephyrs  blandly 
Waked  the  meadows  with  a  sigh. 

Birds  in  hues  of  floral  splendor 

Flamed  and  sang  in  tropic  woods, 
Tinted  vapors,  dim  and  tender, 

Wreathed  the  sky  in  lovely  moods ; 
And  the  winding  rivers,  dreamy 

With  the  shadows  that  they  bore, 
Trailed  their  crystal  robes  and  beamy 

To  the  ocean's  misted  shore. 

Gemmy  lakelets  lay  enchanted 

.In  the  glamour  of  the  Ea^t, 
And  the  trees  immortals  planted, 

Dropped  a  gold  and  purple  feast; 
And  the  yellow  lion,  sleeping 

In  the  hyacinthe  shades, 
Saw  the  fearless  lambkins  leaping 

Down  the  clover-scented  glades. 

White-limbed  mortals,  idly  roving 

In  Elysian  ecstac^, 
Knew  no  duller  task  than  loving, 

And  were  God-like,  fair  and  free ; 
For  their  lives  were  but  the  summing 

Of  the  sweets  the  angels  sip — 
Drowsy  as  the  brown  bee's  humming 

At  the  woodbine's  fragrant  lip. 

'Twas  the  happy  age,  the  golden^ 
Which  the  elder  poets  sang 


THE    LEGEND   OF    LIFE.  309 

When  their  measures,  rare  and  olden, 

Up  to  heaven  rose  and  rang; 
But  a  north-wind  blew,  the  flowers 

Curled  and  withered  in  its  breath, 
And  above  the  trysting  bowers 

Ran  the  whisper  :  "  Labor — death  !" 

And  the  palm-tree  lisped  no  longer 

Tales  of  love  and  peace  benign, 
For  a  music,  braver,  stronger, 

Shook  the  plumage  of  the  pine ; 
And  the  surges,  shoreward  bending, 

Rolled  the  thunder  of  a  prayer 
That  was  half  a  paean,  blending 

Battle,  vict'ry,  and  despair. 

Still  the  fair  moon  wandered  nightly 

In  enameled  fields  of  blue, 
And  the  springing  dawn  still  brightly 

Showered  rubies  on  the  dew ; 
Phoebus  still  passed  on  and  over, 

Crowning  earth  with  regal  charms, 
And  caressed  her,  like  a  lover, 

In  the  rose-wreath  of  his  arms. 

But  the  bugle-call  of  duty 

Echoed  down  life's  rocky  stair, 
And  the  world's  receding  beauty 

Told  of  tempests  in  the  air; 
For  the  slow  and  strange  uncoiling 

Of  the  wondrous  fate  of  man, 


310  THE    LEGEND   OF 

In  the  dust  and  din  of  toiling, 
And  the  rush  of  strife  bean. 


On  the  clear,  unspotted  pages 

Of  the  pearly  book  of  mind, 
Through  the  weary  lapse  of  ages, 

Shades  of  truth  were  dimly  lined  ; 
Words  were  blotted,  phrases  tangled, 

But  a  transcript  grew  apace 
Of  the  features,  O  how  mangled  ! 

Of  Jehovah's  hidden  face. 

Genius  spread  her  purple  pinions 

For  a  flight  beyond  the  stars, 
Valor  called  his  fiery  minions 

To  the  wreck  of  savage  wars  ; 
And  the  sheen  of  cities,  founded 

By  the  rivers  and  the  seas, 
Marked  the  periods  grandly  rounded 

On  the  roll  of  destinies. 

Many  gods,  with  wild  grimaces, 

Led  the  faith  of  men  astray  — 
Temples  rose  in  sacred  places, 

And  the  priests  bore  kingly  sway  ; 
But  the  keen  sword,  never  sleeping, 

In  the  twilight  flashed  and  rang, 
Where  the  stormy  hosts,  at  reaping, 

To  a  moon  of  scarlet  sang. 

Like  a  sail  that  glints  in  turning 
On  the  ocean's  cloudy  rim, 


THE    LEGEND  OF    LIFE. 

Hints  of  truth,  a  moment  burning, 
Touched  the  spirit's  border  dim — 

Touched  and  passed,  and  left  the  tremor 
Of  a  flitting  sense  of  light, 

On  the  soul  of  sage  or  dreamer, 

Watching,  listening  through  the  night. 

Sweet  as  vesper  bells,  recalling 

Weariness  to  prayer  and  rest, 
Were  the  words  of  wisdom,  falling 

From  the  lips  the  gods  caressed ; 
For  the  minds  of  some,  uplifted 

O'er  the  tumult  of  the  years, 
Through  the  veil  of  shadows,  rifted, 

Caught  the  sunlight's  leveled  spears. 

On  prophetic  temples,  visions 

Of  redemption  blossomed  then, 
And,  beyond  the  sword's  decisions, 

Shone  the  star  of  peace  again ; 
But  the  pall  of  superstition 

Hovered  still  o'er  courts  and  camps, 
And  the  seers,  in  pale  contrition, 

Stumbled  on  by  misty  lamps. 


I. 

'Tis  a  gala  night  with  immortals  above, 
And  sweet,  as  the  sigh  of  the  woman  you  love, 

Is  the  loitering  breath  of  the  breeze ; 
And  the  tresses  of  moonlight  are  drifted  and  blown, 


312  THE    LEGEND   OE    LIFE. 

On  the  lips  of  the  sea-waves,  subduing  -their  moan, 
And  tangled  in  odorous  trees. 

II. 

And  the  stars,  from  their  beautiful  vases  of  gold, 
Besprinkle  the  earth  with  ambrosia  untold, 

And  the  scintillant  laughter  of  light ; 
But  the  vale  of  Judea  is  waiting  the  crown 
Of  a  kinglier  splendor  than  stars  shower  down, 

Or  wreathe  on  the  brow  of  the  night. 

III. 

The  waters  of  Jordan  salute  as  they  pass 
The  flowers  that  lean  to  the  whispering  grass, 

With  a  crystalline  tinkle  of  song; 
And  the  olives  kiss  hands  to  the  mystical  palm 
The  queen  and  the  priestess  of  luster  and  calm, 

As  the  moments  of  Jubilee  throng. 

IV. 

O,  fair  as  the  bosoms  of  maidens,  the  hills 
Heave  soft  in. the  ocean  of  rapture  that  fills 

The  domain  of  the  prophets  and  kings ; 
And  the  shepherds,  reclined  on  the  blossomy  swells, 
Talk  low  as  they  listen  to  murmurous  bells, 

Or  the  bird  that  awakens  and  sings. 

V. 

Is  it  dawn  that  the  stars  are  so  suddenly  pale  ? 
Is  the  daylight  aflame  in  the  shimmering  veil 

Of  the  pensive  and  lingering  moon  ? 
Ah,  morn  never  rose  and  the  day  never  shone 


THE    LEGEND    OF    LIFE.  313 

| 

With  a  glory  like  this,  which  do.th  seem  to  be  thrown 
From  the  disk  of  some  marvelous  noon  ! 

VI. 

For  the  gates  that  the  poets  and  psalmists  have  sung, 
At  the  nod  of  the  Father  have  suddenly  swung, 

And  the  planets  their  splendor  enfurl ; 
As  a  flash  of  the  Throne,  an  ineffable  beam 
Is  an  instant  astray,  and  has  left  us  a  dream 

Of  sapphire  and  diamond  and  pearl. 

VII. 

There's  a  step  on  the  stair  that  the  angels  have  trod, 
And  the  Prince  of  the  Manger,  our  brother  and  God, 

Is  the  guest  and  the  grace  of  us  all ; — 
Our  captain  in  battle,  the  rose  and  the  wreath 
Of  our  life  and  our  love,  and  our  triumph  when  death 

Shall  trumpet  the  welcome  recall. 

viii.    Bancroft  Library 

Oh,  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  comfort  us  still, 

For  the  pathway  is  dim  and  the  tempest  is  chill, 

And  our  sorrows  thou  only  canst  tell ; 
And  the  spheres  never  roam  in  the  clear  amethyst, 
But  they  beckon  and  say  thou  wilt  come  to  the  tryst, 

And  we  know  that  the  rest  will  be  well. 


Lo  !  the  torch  of  Heaven,  streaming 
O'er  the  devious  ways  of  earth, 

Left  full  many  a  beacon  gleaming 
On  the  altar  and  the  hearth ; 


314  THE    LEGEND    OF    LIFE. 

In  the  desert  sparkled  fountains 
That  were  never  known  before, 

And  the  cold  and  craggy  mountains 
A  serener  aspect  wore. 

Then  the  heavy  tome  of  Science 

Slowly  loosed  its  mighty  maze, 
And  no  longer  bade  defiance 

To  the  paly  student's  gaze; 
On  the  canvass  blushed  the  beauty 

Which  the  soul  of  art  doth  keep, 
And  the  sculptor's  priestly  duty 

Woke  the  marble's  snowy  sleep. 

Woe  befell,  and  nations  wandered 

In  the  slimy  sloughs  and  fens, 
And  a  wealth  of  hope  was  squandered 

In  Cimmerian  glooms  and  glens; 
But  the  goal  of  all  endeavor, 

Like  a  soaring  shaft  of  flame, 
Tossed  its  plumy  crest  forever, 

Till  the  peoples  onward  came. 

There  was  heard  the  moan  of  bondage 

And  the  lingering  shriek  of  pain, 
And  Olea's  glossy  frondage 

Dripped  with  battle's  costly  rain ; 
For  the  years,  with  flying  shuttle, 

Wove  a  sombre  web  of  doom- 
Brightened  only  by  the  subtle 

Thread  of  Hope's  refulgent  loom. 


THE    LEGEND   OF    LIFE.  315 

Yet  the  ocean  swung  the  censer 

Of  its  worship  evermore, 
Though  the  days  were  darker,  denser 

Than  the  Pagan  nights  of  yore; 
And  the  graceful  rivers,  straying 

In  their  shining  scarfs  of  mist, 
Sang  of  summer,  and,  delaying, 

Meads  and  musky  gardens  kissed. 


O,  the  woven  lights  and  shadows 

Of  the  rolling  tide  of  time — 
Purple  tents  to-day,  and  meadows — 

On  the  morrow  cliffs  to  climb  ! 
But  the  broad  sun  stands  forever, 

As  the  planets  wheel  and  wheel, 
And  our  fears  depress  us  never 

When  the  days  at  parting  kneel. 

Leaf  by  leaf,  the  stony  record 

Of  the  strata  rises  still, 
And  the  life  of  man,  so  chequered, 

Owns  the  same  eternal  will; 
In  the  dust  and  blood  and  ashes 

Of  a  thousand  wild  defeats, 
Vict'ry  springs,  the  spirit  flashes, 

And  the  pulse  of  courage  beats. 

Lo  !  the  human  min^  advances 
In  the  nimbus  of  her  pride, 

And  within  her  starry  glances 
No  delusion  shall  abide  ! 


316  THE    LEGEND   OF    EIFE. 

In  the  trackless  depths  of  ether, 

Roving  worlds  display  her  sign, 
And  to  prisoned  Truth,  beneath  her, 

Patiently  her  ears  incline. 

Yet,  beside  the  tranquil  river 

Flowing  brightly  by  our  doors, 
Hearts  with  old  emotions  quiver 

As  the  spirit  sinks  or  soars ; 
Love  is  still  the  sweetest  warble 

Lips  of  ruby  ever  know — 
Death  is  still  a  sphinx-like  marble, 

Still  a  white  and  speechless  woe. 

Isis  and  Osiris,  listening 

To  the  voices  of  the  Nile, 
Saw  such  tears  of  mortals  glistening, 

Knew  the  sunlight  of  our  smile  ! 
Lo  !  while  thought  has  grown  and  builded 

Temples  brighter  than  the  sun, 
Joy  alone  our  lives  has  gilded 

Since  the  reign  of  Christ  begun  ! 

Up,  and  on,  O  mind  of  mortal, 

To  the'far,  imperial  heights  ! — 
Up,  and  touch  the  jasper  portal 

That  delays  thy  daring  flights  ! — 
Touch  and  turn,  the  way  is  weary, 

And  the  stars  no  warmth  impart, 
Thou  shalt  lay  thy  treasures  dreary 

On  the  threshold  of  the  heart  ! 

s.  L.  s. 


THE  SOUL  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

Springing,  like  man,  from  the  dust  of  the  ground, 
Diffusing  the  sweetest  of  fragrance  around,    \ 
Opening  its  bosom  to  the  sun's  bright  ray, 
A  beautiful  little  white  floweret  lay. 

Like  the  soul  of  a  saint  in  calm  repose, 
The  heart  of  the  flower  its  leaves  enclose ; 
Receiving  with  rapture  the  dew  and  the  sun,. 
Breathing  more  sweet  as  its  brief  race  is  run. 

As  purple  pansies  on  the  spotless  snow, 
The  lives  of  Christians  should  with  virtue  glow, 
Attracting  all  eyes  by  their  modest  worth, 
The  fairest  pledges  of  a  fruitful  birth. 

Not  like  the  Dahlia,  vaunting  and  vain, 
Proudly  flaunting  the  poor  with  cold  disdain, 
But  like  the  Daisy,  as  becometh  its  name, 
Blooming  in  alley  and  highway  the  same. 

The  sun,  as  adversity  sternly  distills 

Bitter  blight  in  the  heart  of  the  flower, 

With  healing  dew-drops  and  with  pleasure  refills, 

Like  dews  from  the  Word  every  hour. 

The  heart  of  the  Christian  beneath  the  rod, 
Blossoms  the  sweeter  in  the  garden  of  God ; 
'T would  be  well  for  us  all  in  the  last  sad  hour, 
\{  our  souls  did  resemble  this  pure  little  flower* 


MOTHER'S  GRIEF. 

Fold  the  little  white  hands  at  rest 
Upon  the  little  guileless  breast; 
The  death-damp  will  never  again 
Rise  on  the  forehead  freed  from  pain. 

Softly  sever  a  silken  tress, 
Gently  smooth  the  spotless  dress, 
Gather  rare  lilies  waxen  white ; 
How  can  a  mother  say  good-night  ? 

Drive  me  not  hence,  I  love  to  stay 
By  the  little  fair  form  of  clay ; 
Respect  my  grief,  nor  heed  my  moan, 
But  leave  me  with  'my  dead  alone. 

Tender  is  the  trace  which  lingers, 
Made  by  little  baby  ringers ; 
Only  a  mother  knows  the  worth — 
My  child  was  all  I  had  on  earth. 


WHOSE  CHURCH  IS  THIS? 


It  is  told  of  a  man  poorly  dressed,  that  he  went  to  a  church  seeking 
an  opportunity  to  worship.  The  usher  did  not  notice  him,  but  seated 
several  well-dressed  persons  who  presented  themselves,  when  finally 
the  man  addressed  the  usher,  saying  :  "  Can  you  tell  me  whose  church 
this  is?"  "Yes,  this  is  Christ's  Church."  "Is  he  in?"  was  the  next 
question,  after  which  a  seat  was  not  so  hard  to  find. — Christian  Union, 
November  25/1874. 

"  Whose  costly  church  is  this  ?"  the  poor  man  cried ; 

"  Was  it  not  to  save  all  that  King  Jesus  died  ? 

Or  was  it  for  those  who  wear  silks  and  laces, 

And  who  attend  church  writh  scornful  faces  ? 

Is  it,  then,  such  an  awful  and  grievous  sin, 

For  the  very  poor  man  to  seek  shelter  within  ? 

I'm  old  and  feeble  with  many  a  care, 

I  had  found  a  few  roses  here  and  there, 

Like  scattered  sunbeams  or  words  of  prayer, 

But  they,  too,  faded  in  life's  frosty  air. 

My  loved  ones  have  gone  where  we  all  must  go." 

Memory  whispers  of  the  past,  and  lo  ! 

A  pleasant  scene  upon  the  stage  appears, 

Surrounded  by  friends,  as  in  former  years, 

The  sexton  smiles  and  bows,  without  a  fear 

Of  soiling  the  pew  with  poverty's  tear, 

Duly  attends  and  opens  wide  the  door. 

The  dream,  it. has  past;  in  a  moment  more 


320  WHOSE    CHURCH    IS    THIS? 

Again  I  stand  at  the  church  door  and  wait, 
The  rich,  esteemed  for  their  fair  estate, 
Are  seated,  and,  with  haughty  pride  elate, 
Would  bar  the  portals  of  heaven's  golden  gate. 
Beneath  many  a  vest,  ragged  and  old, 
There  beats  a  manly  heart  of  worth  untold. 


